


Red Rose, RedRum

by Adjudicato, Useless_Lesbian_Snow_Weiss



Series: Roses Before the Throne [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Death, Depression, F/F, Fantasy, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 96,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9845507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adjudicato/pseuds/Adjudicato, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless_Lesbian_Snow_Weiss/pseuds/Useless_Lesbian_Snow_Weiss
Summary: In spring it began, a dance between two roses. Both came to a school of great pedigree and prestige. Both hoped to find a means to their own ends. An heiress, poised to overtake one of the more affluent organizations of Remnant; A young woman after the training and knowledge to help others when life became too much. Yes, they came seeking these things, but instead found something else.They found one another. And in doing so, Fate herself found them as well. Now they dance. Now their tale continues. Now they start on and draw closer to what is meant for them.





	1. Prologue: Hear, Feel, Think

Red Rose, RedRum

Dancing Roses Book Two

By: Adjudicato & Rebecca

 

Prologue

Hear, Feel, Think

 

Ͼ

 

But acceptance does not always entail a lack of curiosity, or a lack of drive to understand. Acceptance does not mean one forfeits their right to know further of what they have accepted, implicitly or explicitly.

Under a bright shining sun and amid the dancing petals of the many cherry trees around. Amid chirping birds and gossiping passersby, all of which went unheard. In the chilling winds of a Spring come far too early to the fresh, new year. Within the comforting embrace of an ever wider-opening truth of cosmic proportions—individual though it may have been, concerning only the two to whom it was opening. There, in that moment and in that expanse of revelation…

Ruby Rose sat at a small table of white iron, her mouth loose and ajar. Her cheeks were splotchy with both fresh tears and burgeoning blush, of embarrassment mostly but of astonishment as well. The words just spoken to her were still bouncing around her mind. Echoing relentlessly as she tried to make complete sense of them. Peace lay around her like a crown of soft down, as though a pillow her head now rested on. Acceptance was that peace, one without hesitation or initial thought. But now there _was_ thought—wonder, curiosity, a need to understand the concept laid before her—as Ruby tried to make sense of those echoing words.

Across from her, burgeoning embarrassment also coloring the alabaster flesh of her cheeks, Weiss Schnee sat unmoving and silent. She’d said her piece only moments ago, and now sat there trying to decide what came next. Or perhaps trying to figure out what her choices _were_ from which to decide. Logic had ever been both her most cherished tool and her stoutest ally—an ally that now had left her high, dry, and holding the bill.

The heiress’s lips were pursed to a tight line, tongue licking the back of her flawless teeth in fretful compulsion. Sweat had begun to prick at her forehead and accumulate, a single runner of which now slid gently, ticklish, down her left temple. It was as though the cold of the too early Spring were not there at all. Like the fire within her heart and belly stood ready to leap up, engulf her and make her little more than a bit of charred brimstone.

This was mostly for that damnable silence. Weiss had made her decision—quickly decided though it was, we all say thank you—and now sat there with little more than the echo of it roiling in her feverish head. Across from her, _gorgeous_ silver eyes staring in unblinking surprise, Ruby said nothing. Silent for surprise, or for lack of reciprocation?

Despite how unnerving that question was, the silence itself was the source of Weiss’s building anxiety.

“You… _love me?_ ” Ruby said at last. Her tone made it sound like a question, and Weiss jumped at the start of the woman’s voice, but the delivery said she was repeating it. If only for herself, Weiss could not discern.

Then the silence came back. Of course, the silence was only between they themselves. Birds still chirped, the wind still blew noisily through the empty boughs of the cherry trees, people still jabbered all around them in the now more populated patio of the bistro. One of the trains—on which Ruby would now be departing, likely for good, if not for Weiss’s intervention—even slid into its station none too far away. Its arrival rattled the ground beneath them and filled the air with a cacophony of hisses and low rumbles, none of which was noticed. And when it departed again minutes later, neither Weiss nor Ruby noted the harsh thrum of its engines spinning up or the whistle of its departure alert.

Somehow, both lost themselves to this silent rumination, and sat transfixed therein. Maybe it was Fate once more, then, that called Ruby back first. Or maybe it was just dumb luck, as life ever seems ready to throw in just to shake things up.

“You… _love…_ ” Ruby said again, a whisper now that was more like a shout to Weiss’s ears. This was because the only thing Weiss _could hear_ was Ruby, there in that ensorcelling moment.

So, Weiss did the only thing that came to mind in response.

“I love you.” Weiss repeated.

No sooner than the words had left her mouth, the clock-tower—more of a clock-lamppost were one to be discerning—by the bistro’s exit onto the street sounded off. It chimed four times, loud and clear.

As if some spell had simply been wished away, the chiming of that bell brought Weiss and Ruby back to the moment. Back to the bistro and out from that cosmic doorway of truth, in which both had stood ready to lose themselves entirely.

Ruby blinked a few times and shook her head. Weiss took a deep breath and tried to coax her heart to calm, to stop burning as an inferno beneath her collar. Once both had done their motions of coming to, they met gazes. Purest silver to coldest blue.

“ _How_ do you love me?” Ruby asked after another moment of quiet staring. There was a brief thought in Ruby’s head that the question was conceited and maybe even selfish, but her honest curiosity won out and stayed her tongue from trying to qualify it further.

Weiss was all but upended by this question. With the doorway to that truth now mostly shut and only what little she had thus far gleaned remaining in her head, Weiss had no more capability to answer that question now than when she’d first delivered her profession, before the silence. In all honesty, she might not have known how to answer _even if_ that door were open fully and she had boundless access to its truths. Logic had been her anodyne to alleviate the lack of love in her life. And logic could not be brought to bear on this subject, as Weiss now found while trying to discern how to answer Ruby’s question.

Ruby watched this train of thought go through Weiss’s head, the workings of which painted a clear picture of itself on the heiress’s face. Lips opening and closing in mute response, trying desperately to deliver half-formed words. Eyes bouncing up and down as Weiss looked in her mind for an answer that was not there—where she could find it, at least.

“I…” Weiss tried, and fell silent again. And again her mind wandered through the vagaries of this new thing, this nascent truth. Finally, the heiress caught just the barest idea and said, “I just… _I love you_ …”

Perhaps that barest idea was that repeating it would somehow force it to make more sense. Not just to Ruby, but to her as well. Was that so wrong? Or misguided? Had Weiss ever had the experience of actually falling in love on which to look back upon, and with which to reason her present assertion?

No, she had not. In fact, love had ever been the one factor of Weiss’s life that seemed ever ready to slip away. Perhaps just within grasp at times—for understanding, for experience, _for truth_ —but always pouring through her fingers like so much sand…

Weiss watched Ruby regard her with careful compassion, losing herself more and more to the truth she could neither reason with nor express. Ruby meanwhile was coming out of the shock of it, as the emotions that had so ravaged her these past weeks were first strangled and then entirely snuffed out—a fire on which succoring ice-water had been slowly poured, leaving it only a smoldering remnant.

“You really mean it, don’t you…” Ruby observed in a calm, caring voice, watching Weiss struggle with the expression so far from her grasp.

“Of course I do!” Weiss shouted her reply.

Suddenly, both women were made aware of the many people around them. In her heated reply, Weiss had stood and knocked the table between them. Its iron legs skittered across the cobbled ground and made a most horrendous racket, quieting the jabbering crowd of people. All eyes turned to them both, now collectively aware and interested in the commotion. Not a few of these eyes picked out Weiss Schnee, heiress to the company for which this massive city and university were built.

Ruby scanned the crowd now staring at them, then looked back at Weiss. She offered a placative smile and stood.

“There’s another little park nearby.” Ruby said, offering her hand to Weiss. Weiss looked at that hand for a moment. “Come on.” Ruby persisted, “It’ll be quieter there, and no one will wonder what we’re talking about.”

Then it made sense to Weiss—why Ruby was offering her hand to hold and just what she was on about—so the heiress took that hand. And not for the last time, she was amazed (even if only a little) at how well this ditzy-seeming woman could handle herself under pressure. In that realization, Weiss wondered just _how badly_ the death of her sister must have gotten to her, to so drastically drag her into the despair that had almost seen her flee the MTU altogether.

Letting this rumination go for the nonce, Weiss followed Ruby—hand in hand—away from the bistro and down the street, to a small patch of greenery and trees that overlooked a tiny lake.

 

Ͼ

 

Getting there took only a few minutes. Those were quiet minutes, but not as the curtain of silence that had marked most of this tense exchange. Instead they were the quiet of both women considering the implications of the situation as a whole—how it would affect their lives and their futures, what it would mean between they themselves, and just how much of it was presently true and how much was a passing fancy.

When they arrived, Ruby led the way to a small copse of ironwood trees. These were a funny thing to see in a city at all, but were made much more out of place given that they were typically desert trees. Their funny round leaves, lined in straight rows on either side of the stem, were just as verdant green as could possibly be. They smelled of a very earthy, strong flavor and cast quite the reaching shadow beneath their boughs.

Ruby let go of Weiss’s hand and picked a spot by one of the largest tree’s gnarled roots, setting herself down with a deep sigh. Weiss watched for a moment, still lost in herself, until she noticed Ruby beckoning her to sit at the tree’s base. The heiress hesitated.

“I won’t bite, Weiss.” Ruby teased with a giggle, her mood now much recovered.

Weiss looked at the hand beckoning her and felt a pang for the bandaged digit. Blood still seeped fresh into those bandages, which wrapped around the knuckles of Ruby’s left hand. Then Weiss let it go and did go to sit, leaning her back against the tree’s rough bark once she’d done so.

“You didn’t need to drag me out of the crowd to say you don’t feel the same way.”

Weiss said this with her eyes closed, face turned to the canopy of the massive tree. Thus, she did not see the brief flash of hurt across Ruby’s features.

“That’s… not it.” Ruby said, softly.

The heiress opened her eyes and looked at the woman only some three feet from her, legs crossed and posterior cradled by the verdant grass. What she saw was a woman as none she’d ever beheld before. Not in a sense of alien features or anything like, but in a sense of being colored by some new aspect Weiss had never known to exist. The definition of this aspect and why it was there were lost on Weiss…

But any who know of love would know it for what it was quite easily.

And suddenly, watching Ruby bathed in this foreign and unknown glow, the rest of the world simply slipped away. University deadlines and projects that loomed on the horizon; plans and schemes to overtake her father’s company, so she could bring it back to the path she knew it should be upon; concerns of upkeeping her own image and legacy so that path could be maintained…

All of it melted and dissipated, revealed for the lesser concerns they were all quickly becoming.

“Weiss, I…” Ruby started, then choked a bit. Her heart was racing mad and hot beneath her bosom just as Weiss’s.

It took Ruby a minute of swallowing the lump in her throat and a minute more of gathering her courage to go on.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Ruby asked at last.

Again Weiss was caught off guard by this query. Now her resolve was wearing thin, and the heiress took little time to decide that admitting present defeat might be the only path to lasting victory yet left.

“No, not really.” Weiss confessed with a heavy sigh. Then she added, “I do know I’ve come to care for you. _A lot_ , at that…”

Ruby smiled at this, and both their hearts calmed a tad. With the cold wind no longer blowing, however, the heat within them that showed no signs of abating was quickly overtaking their racing hearts. The sweating had stopped, for both, but that heat was becoming ever more of a nuisance.

“So… you love me like a friend?” Ruby questioned further.

Weiss thought about that possibility, then said: “I don’t think so.” But she sounded so very unsure, even to herself.

“Then… like a sister?”

To that, Weiss nearly laughed. What ended up coming out was a brief snort instead.

“No, definitely not.” The heiress answered assuredly, thinking of Winter and how cold their relationship was.

Now, Ruby’s face began to blush. After a moment of watching that blossom of red heat creep into her fair features, Weiss realized why and began to blush as well. She knew what question was coming next—one she had asked herself not a few times since that night in the alley, so long ago, only to push it out of her mind as quickly as she could—and somehow dreaded finally confronting it.

“You feel… _that way_ … about me?” Ruby asked in a tiny, almost terrified voice, clearly dancing around outright saying it.

Weiss summoned up the last of her resolve and courage.

“I think so.”

“You _think_ so?” Ruby’s tone was shaken and unnerved, but took on a certain authority to it. Like a negotiator trying to talk a jumper from the building’s ledge, insisting that there is indeed so much more to live for.

Lost, tired, and flagging, Weiss sighed again. Harder now, and deeper.

“What are you getting at, Ruby?”

Then, Ruby said it. She said the only thing that was left to say, and for the first time in her entire life, Weiss Schnee was confronted with the true obstacle that lay between budding love and truly embraced love.

“You need to _know_ how you feel, Weiss.” Ruby said with sudden gravity. “You need to be sure of what you’re feeling, and why, and what it will mean—for both of us, but more importantly for you.”

Ruby reached out and took Weiss’s right hand in both of hers, then lifted it to chest-level between them. She leaned in close, silver eyes all but burning with some new mystery Weiss could not discern the meaning of, and squeezed that hand tight. A few more pinpricks of blood stained the last white spots of her bandages.

“Saying this is one thing, Weiss, but meaning it and knowing what it means are something totally different. I don’t know how your dad thinks or how your company works—I just wanted to be a therapist after all, to help people deal with their own small, individual problems—but I’m pretty confident assuming you’d be risking _a whole damn lot_ for this.

“Falling in love is one thing, sure. I’ve dreamed of it myself a few times. Never really saw it happening this way, but I never really thought I’d be going to the world’s most prestigious non-combat school either. You, though…?”

Ruby squeezed the heiress’s hand a little tighter still, and moved just a tad closer. There was now only two feet between them at most, and Weiss could feel her friend’s radiating heat. It was a realization of fellow humanity Weiss had never known. Scary and foreign and mysterious—but somehow not unwelcome.

“You’ve done more for me than anyone outside my family has ever come close to, Weiss.” Ruby whispered, tears starting to peek at the corners of her eyes. “And I care about you a whole lot, you know? So… I’m saying this _because_ I care so much about you. And I want you to keep that in mind, ok?”

Weiss nodded once, slow and deliberate.

“You need to take some time and really think about this. Go back to your dorm and sit down, have some coffee or tea or whatever, pick up a book or just meditate—but during any of that, _you need to think very hard_. You need to decide if this is what you think it is, and you need to know if it’s worth what you might be risking…”

As she delivered this earnest plea, Ruby’s own heart was beginning to break. She hadn’t quite latched onto the understanding, but her care for the heiress was much more than just care. And saying these things—delivering this plea for surety, selfless though it may be—was hurting more than she’d thought it would. _Or could_.

The first tear fell free as Ruby said what she thought would be her last on the matter.

“I’ll be right here in a week, Weiss. Right under this tree at noon. I’ll wait for two hours before I assume you’ve decided against it, ok?”

The raven-headed woman let her friend’s hand go after a last squeeze, then stood and dusted the grass from her rump. She turned to leave but decided to add one more thing before doing so. Ruby turned again and knelt beside Weiss, who now sat slumped against the ironwood tree in total shock.

“We really shouldn’t talk until then…” Ruby said, then planted a single peck of a kiss on Weiss’s cheek.

And with that, Ruby left.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss watched her go.

The heiress continued to sit there under the ironwood tree, lost in her shock and reeling. Now that voice had been put to them, the hollow gnawing of her worries danced fresh and anew in her mind. Ruby had had one hell of a point, Weiss couldn’t argue that. And once it was all settled and things moved on, she would even be grateful for this. For the fact that her friend showed such a reliable and reasonable side of herself that day (this day) under the ironwood tree.

Ruby was out of sight and gone so far as Weiss could tell. Only a minute this had taken, and it was a grueling minute for the young Schnee. A trying, painful minute that would stretch on for most of the next week.

But at last, after sitting under the tree for half an hour after Ruby’s departure, Weiss stood on her shaky legs and dusted herself off. The movements were stiff and stilted, and her muscles felt like rubber as she did so. Then she cast a look over the tiny lake which sparkled under the afternoon sun, like so many glimmering firedims.

“Delah…” Weiss muttered under her breath.

 

α

 

Ruby got back to her apartment sometime just after sunset. She had walked the entire way, not really knowing why she decided to do so. By the time she walked inside and flipped on the lights, her whole _being_ ached miserably.

A throbbing headache had started almost the moment Ruby stepped back onto the street and began her journey home (was it really?). This had bloomed into a full-blown migraine roughly half the way, and now it felt as if her eyes would pop from her skull at any moment. Add to this the fact that her legs were made to bear her so far, and one could reasonably understand that Ruby sorely wanted a drink of something. Anything that might dull the terrible aches—especially the one at the middle of her right thigh—but she knew the apartment was dry.

Ruby staggered in after spending a minute simply scanning the derelict. Clothes piled up, trash scattered everywhere, books and papers carelessly tossed hither and thither, a leaning stack of polystyrene take-out boxes. Somewhere buried in that mess was Ruby’s apartment proper, but she had no inclination whatsoever toward cleaning to find it. So, she just staggered in after taking her time to ingest the mess.

_I love you._

The words bounced around Ruby’s tired, spent mind as she took lumbering steps into the clutter. She bobbed around a pile of something or other—mostly clothes and garbage—and fell onto what was at one point a futon-couch. It was a catch-all for her study materials now, and at present had just become a meager resting spot.

The haggard woman thought of lifting herself from it for a moment, to continue her journey to find clean-ish clothes to dress in after a shower, but decided against it. Instead she turned over, and draped an arm over her throbbing eyes.

_I love you._

It went again, scrolling across her lids like neon text, and Ruby’s lower lip quivered lightly. She wondered if it could really be what Weiss thought it was. She wondered if it could be something so powerful—and yet so simple—so soon after knowing each other.

Their first year of acquaintanceship was nearly behind them now. In that time, yes and say thank ya, acquaintanceship had become partnership, and then friendship. That friendship saw Weiss—heiress, cold heart, snowy mien, icy blood—go _entirely_ out of her way to help Ruby. To spirit her across the world to see her sister. To be beside her at the funeral, and to chase her through woods and rain and grief. Then, it saw Weiss chase her once more—hardly nine hours past—and this time, stop her. From running, from giving up, from cashing her chips on this venture.

Academically minded? Maybe. Concerned for herself? Maybe. Selfishly aimed? Maybe, but doubtful.

Ruby thought and thought and thought, until at last she spun herself up into a tizzy and began to sob into the arm over her eyes. Choked and gasping sobs, sounding more like a drunkard spilling out the poison from their gut than a hurting woman, barely finished with her twenty-fourth year.

 _Why would you love me?_ Ruby wondered, rasping another cry from her quickly drying throat. _What could have possibly made you **think**_ _you do? What could possibly have been so changing, so upending?_

_Why…_

**_Liar._ **

_Why…_

**_She doesn’t really, she doesn’t know…_ **

_Why…_

The exchange went on for a little while, and Ruby’s heart grew more and more strained, her breathing more and more forced, her sobs more and more hysteric, until at last, Ruby bolted upright and leaned over.

What little bile was in her stomach came out, all over the floor, hateful and hurting.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss Schnee, heiress apparent of the Schnee Dust Company, star student of the SDC Management Training University, Atlas’s brightest mind (like as not), and the likely savior of both the Schnee name and Company…

Was a mess.

She sat in one of her apartment/dormitory’s two chairs—the ones that flanked either side of her posh couch—in total shock. Her icy-blue eyes stared unmoving, unthinking, into the darkness that had come with sunset. She hadn’t turned her lights on, because the lights in her head weren’t really on. The ancillaries were, sure, but no one was there to take any calls, or fill out any paperwork. Everyone (figuratively imagining) that made up Weiss Schnee’s inner workings was out for coffee, or tea, or liquor, or maybe even something harder. Back in… _sometime_.

Speaking of liquor, an open bottle of exactly such sat in front of her. Beside it was a high-baller glass half-full with ice and some dark, molasses-colored liquid. The bottle itself was now mostly empty and the heiress was mostly besotted beyond reason. Not that this really mattered, checked out as she was, but the heavy flush and slow breath and laborious thought of drunkenness was strong about her.

Weiss hiccupped and coughed. This seemed to bring her out of it a bit, and she focused her vacant sight onto the window to her right. Nothing much to be seen but blinds backlit with streetlight, but she looked at it all the same.

At that moment, some of her faculties returned from fetching coffee—or whatever the poor sods decided to imbibe—and a rudimentary thought occurred to Weiss. Its full-fledged version was something she likely should have considered before saying what she had earlier, but shit can’t be put back in the horse, sadly.

So, Weiss stared at the window and let this rudimentary thought ramble about her sotted head. That was all it could do for the nonce. Ramble around and hopefully imprint itself well enough to be recalled on the morrow, through the raging hangover and bodily aches.

And the nausea, too, can’t forget that…

 

Λ

 

_‘Do I love her?’_

_Right? Or at least something close, enough to pass a driving test. Enough to remember when you wake up._

_And then, it came like thunder, rolling bones off on the horizon…_

 

Ͼ

 

The morning came as it ever does, time running on in its endless cycle, in its tireless forward march. The sun rose, the world awoke, people went about their daily lives. Places to be, people to see, things to do. Much ado about nothing, in many ways.

Weiss still sat in her chair when that sun came up and the world roused with it. Slumped over. When the brightness peeked in through the blinds of her window, it stabbed at her lidded eyes like hot irons. A headache bloomed to painful life and the fire in her belly flared, bringing the heiress quickly, rudely, from her restless slumber.

“Nn…” Weiss groaned, sitting up stiffly. Every joint felt like stone. Each motion was a study in raucous flares of agony.

She looked at the bottle first, after peeling her eyes open. Had to squint to see it right, keep it from going double. Once it came into focus and memory returned of what she’d done the previous night—begun hardly a moment after entering her door—the heiress was filled with shame and revulsion.

Weiss swung her hand out and smashed it into the bottle, sending the thing flying across her room to shatter on the wall. Just left of the door it did, and what little was left in it splattered and began to dribble down to the floor. She watched this with a maddened sort of fascination, for the moment ignoring the bloom of pain in her hand.

A few minutes passed, Weiss watching the liquor run down the wall until it stopped, and then she stood slowly from the chair. Weiss looked around her room, lucidity returning to her bit by bit.

_Do I love her?_

It echoed, like a lost whisper crossed over timeless distance, and settled in Weiss’s heart. In her head. _In her soul_.

She shook her head and staggered to her desk. Weiss pulled open one of the drawers and took out a little white bottle marked ‘ _Schnee Pharmaceuticals_ ’ in bold, red lettering. Below this it read ‘ _EXPERIMENTAL_ ’ very clearly.

Weiss ignored this and wrenched the thing open, spilled seven little white ovals into her hand and carefully dropped five back into the bottle. That done, she tossed the bottle back where she got it and dry-swallowed the two she’d kept. And after that, Weiss sat in her studying chair. Leaned her head back and thought. Sighed, and thought some more.

The little oval-shaped, chalky miracles began to work after some five minutes. The aches left her, the splitting headache fled, and her stomach calmed. For the time, at least, Weiss’s head cleared and she set her every fiber to her newest task.

No more grades, no more schemes, no more papers or books or academic things…

For now, it was silver, and whatever her spoken words might mean.

 

Ϭ

 

Both women spent that first day in a nearly spiritual trance of introspection. Neither ate nor drank, and only once did Ruby utilize her lavatory. This was to puke out another stomach-full of acid, as it amounted to. Other than that, it was as though bodily function left them for the day. No hunger (for obvious reasons), no thirst, no calls from nature, and no real fatigue despite the circumstances.

Weiss spent the first half of her day reclined in her studying chair, leaned back and staring at the ceiling in a haze. This haze came mostly from her uniquely unfamiliar state of mind, but not a little bit also from the two little white pills.

Then, sometime around four in the afternoon, Weiss sat up and rummaged for her scroll. She checked four of her six pockets before finding it, and flipped it open at once.

She scrolled through the text messages Ruby had sent her since their numbers had been exchanged. At the time Weiss had first done this, the heiress had been almost ashamed of herself. Giving out a private number for something besides business? Perish the thought. But, she warmed up to it much after only a day. While studying apart, she and Ruby exchanged questions and solutions at first; this became quips and jokes, and friendly nothings not long after.

The crazy symbols made to look like faces and expressions baffled Weiss the most. A semi-colon and a closing parenthesis, a colon-mark and a capital ‘P,’ two at-symbols with a lambda in-between. They were frivolous, they were puerile, they were superfluous… but they were also endearing, and impish, and somehow gave levity to the heiress.

Weiss spent a good hour reading over those texts, thinking more than once she would send one anyway, regardless of Ruby’s request. In the end, she decided not to. Instead Weiss read them once more before finally putting her scroll away, so she could consider.

Across the city, Ruby spent the first half of her day fighting off the aches of the previous.

When she first awoke, Ruby instinctively reached down to rub her right thigh. Of all the gnawing pains, it was the worst—a great and roaring fire beneath her skin, taut and hot to the touch. Her chest hurt too, and was very tight as well, but the leg called her attention most. It reminded her, as ever, why she had never seen Signal Academy or Beacon thereafter, and now accused her of not being enough for her sister (poor poor sister) when it actually mattered.

Ruby lay on her pile of study materials, on her futon-couch, and rubbed at her leg for a good hour before doing anything else. After that—after she’d coaxed the worst of the pain to go away—she sat up and looked around her room again. It was becoming a habit, to look over the discord and chaos her apartment had become.

But it would not _remain_ a habit. Today, for some odd reason, Ruby felt herself fill with vigor and vim and not a little bit of willpower. Today, Ruby felt some small reason return to her, though its meaning would remain hidden for yet a few more days.

And with that vim and vigor and willpower, Ruby proceeded to begin the arduous task of cleaning the discord of her apartment. She made good headway too, for the first two hours—all the while fighting off the remaining aches—until her thoughts turned back to Weiss.

By the time this happened, Ruby had managed to clean up most of her tiny study-nook. Her thoughts came back to what the heiress had declared to her ( ** _Liar_** ) and she stopped her present task of filling a garbage bag full of polystyrene boxes. Ruby let the bag down to the floor carefully, so it wouldn’t spill, and sat beside it. She pulled her scroll from her pocket and, almost whimsically, began to read her text-message log.

It was funny to her, thinking on it a bit, how the first of them were so business-like. They looked more like correspondence between a jaded executive and a doe-eyed intern than messages between study-buddies that were quickly becoming close friends. But as she went on, going from oldest to newest, they did indeed become ever more familiar and ever less guarded.

Ruby wanted more than once to send a message, to ask fervently ‘ _are you sure?’_ Consequences be damned, her own words be damned, all doubts and so forth **_be damned_**. But, she didn’t in the end. Instead, after reading the entire log thrice, Ruby put the scroll away and returned to cleaning.

So she spent the rest of her day.

 

Ϭ

 

On the second day, Ruby still cleaned and Weiss still thought. They drank water here and there that day, but neither had their appetite return—though Ruby began to tire out on her task due to lack of it. Yet all the same, food was nowhere on their thoughts.

On the third day, Ruby did at last eat. She’d had to leave her apartment—it was coming together nicely by then, cleaner with each passing hour—to go to a little convenience store just down the street, where she purchased a few bowls of cup noodles. Weiss, however, had only eaten one of the remaining bananas on her kitchen counter, and not touched the bagels. This was all the sustenance she seemed to either want or need.

It was on the fourth day that things started to finally fall back into place, that Fate decided to continue to weave its tapestry with the needlework that was these two women’s lives. Four days after Weiss delivered her declaration and stopped Ruby from tossing her sister’s greatest gift away, the wheel slipped back into gear and motion reached their dilemma once more.

On that fourth day, Ruby’s apartment was finally cleaned up and the raven-headed woman was finally able to sit down and truly think about it all. And think she did, long and hard and for all the day.

Weiss, meanwhile…

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss walked down the street in the seedy part of the city, her long coat about her shoulders. It was evening and she was a woman in wandering thought. Wandering thought that had propelled her body to wander also.

The Siren’s Call was some five blocks off. The place where this entire capricious escapade had begun. It would only have taken her perhaps three minutes to walk there, had she a mind to. But she didn’t.

No, the heiress was out this evening simply to walk about. The coat was not at all meant to hide her from anything, but merely to keep her warm. Something about the evening air was unusually cold. Not quite cold to touch, but cold to be within.

 _Why **do**_ _I feel this way?_ Weiss wondered to herself, her icy eyes cast to the cement sidewalk that passed beneath her feet. This same question kept popping up again and again, confounding her endlessly. She was Weiss Schnee after all, a woman not given to flights of fancy or bouts of impulsivity. She said what she meant, when she meant to and how she meant to. She did nothing unintentional or unthought out. That was the Schnee way…

_Isn’t it?_

But this held so much more gravity to it, so much more weight. There was so much more to be considered here, and so many nuances as yet unknown.

And so, it broke down to this: Was love really the right word? If it was, then did she really mean it? If so, then why? Considering _why_ mattered at all, that is. If it did, she had to know; if it didn’t, all the better. Most important of all, however, was the very weighty point Ruby had brought up. This mattered more than every other question, like as not…

 _Father won’t like this,_ Weiss admitted to herself at last. _He **definitely** won’t like this…_

The crucial question it boiled down to, all in all, was whether or not Weiss was willing to risk _absolutely everything_ she’d spent her life working toward. Her vie for head of her family’s company, her status among the Atlesian elite, and perhaps even her place as heiress apparent. Might not even _that_ be at risk, should she truly commit to this road?

It pained Weiss to think about this. About the fact that, to her father, she was little more than another tool with which he could advance the company. Aye, maybe she could work her way to leadership—chief executive-ship, if it please ya—without having to marry herself to some wealthy someone or other, for her father’s sake guised as the company’s sake. But if she truly chose this path, that avenue would shut entirely. If not factually, then at least in Weiss’s heart, say true.

 _What would father say to **that**? _ Weiss mused. _I’ve decided I love this woman, father. She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, and she really does care about **me.** Not my money, not your company, not our family name—_ **but me.** _Can you understand that, father? Can you comprehend caring about someone? Without concern for your own gain?_

Oh, how clearly Weiss recalled that night in the alley. Her racing heart, her surety that life was over—the life she knew the life she wanted the life she so strove for—and the crushing weight of her slip up. Battered and bleeding from her mad flight, shivering and scared and sure she had been found out. Had been made. Crushing, burning, bile-tasting despondence…

And then, _she_ came. Ruby—lovable, affable, caring, kind, sweet oaf—had followed her, with no thought whatsoever for gain or personal fortune. No attempt to blackmail, no foul word or judgement said or given. No effort to milk the situation, nothing remotely of the sort.

Plain concern, and only thus.

_She gave me her mask…_

Weiss touched her face, ran her fingers along the deep scar over her left eye.

_She asked if I was ok…_

Weiss’s face blushed and her body flushed with heat.

_She assured me no one had seen…_

Weiss’s heart began to race, but a lucid calm washed over her at the same time.

_She cared…_

Weiss passed by the park Ruby had led her to, what felt so long ago now, and she stopped to look. In the shadowed cast of evening, it was nearly too dark to see beyond the wrought iron gates. She could make out the silhouette of the statue of her grandfather, but little else. And yet, the memory returned…

_She pinky-promised me…_

And Weiss remembered that feeling on her pinky finger, lying in bed after it had happened. Like a string were tied to it, radiating heat and purpose, sailing off into the ether to connect to gods-knew-what. Now, though… now she knew what it connected to. Aye, she knew indeed.

The heiress turned her gaze back to the sidewalk and continued to walk.

 

Ͼ

 

But Weiss almost had to laugh at the exchange with her father in her head. The declaration to her father, as it more truthfully amounted to. She almost had to laugh because it very much **_was_** funny how inconceivable it would be. Say all those things to Jacques Schnee? _Head_ of both the Schnee Family and Company?

Why not throw herself off the Grand Spire while she was at it?

Weiss truly believed both these things would accomplish roughly the same end result. To so brazenly defy her father was tantamount to social-suicide at the least, and might even be worse.

But Fate stepped in, as it so often does: silent and unnoticed and tiptoeing. A gentle nudge to keep things going where it wants. To keep its prey marching ever on to whatever terminus it wishes to bring them to.

For Weiss, this came as a display in a store window. As she walked down the street, staring at the sidewalk, hands in her long-coat’s massive pockets, a flashing color caught the corner of her eye. Might have been a passing car, might have been a glimmering bit of trash tossed out of said passing car, might have been some cosmic being farting for all she knew. Whatever it was, it caught Weiss’s eye and drew her attention.

She looked up and settled her gaze on a brightly lit display across the road. A painstakingly clean window, behind which sat a marvelous arrangement of fanciful knickknacks. Ceramic baubles, clockwork doodads, plush stuffies. Posh and fanciful shadowboxes on the wall behind these, and a most gorgeous watercolor painting hung centered and above the whole caboodle. Depicting a waterwheel turning lazily within an amber river, amid falling leaves all shades of fire and fall.

The heiress turned her gaze and nearly ran down the street, hurrying to the closest crosswalk she could find. There she waited just long enough for the light to turn red and the sign to display the white-lit symbol of a walking person. As soon as it did, Weiss tore off across the road—almost falling twice—and began to run back up the other side.

One thing in particular from that display was in her head, calling out to her for a reason she simply could not fathom. Once Weiss reached the store, she wasted no time going in to purchase that one particular piece. After that, she wasted no time either in heading back home. It was like all the pieces had fallen into place, just because she saw that one thing—special thing particular thing _resonating_ _thing_ —and the heiress found a sudden pep in her step as she went, item tucked jealously protective under her arm.

Weiss slept very well that night, all her answers suddenly found.

 

α

 

Ruby’s thoughts ran the gambit the fourth and fifth days. Everything from musing over Weiss and her words to thinking about her sister and father and even her mother. She’d never known Summer Rose aside from some few stories, but the dream she’d had at the bistro was stuck within her. On her more so, like a lingering warmth from a hot bath. And with her apartment now clean, her very soul somehow and somewhat righted, she could finally experience that lingering warmth a tad.

Experience it to grieve, for both her sister and mother.

On the fifth day, the backlogged grief mostly done with, Ruby’s head finally turned back to Weiss in full. Back to her friend, and what her friend had said.

What Ruby Rose—daughter of Summer Rose and Taiyang Xiao Long, sister of Yang Xiao Long who was no more—finally concluded was frightfully selfless. Almost like something in her was broken in a manner most beneficial to her fellow man, but most harmful to she herself. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t, but the effect was eerily like such.

When that conclusion finally found her sometime around the fourth hour of the sixth day, that odd peace descended over Ruby once again. This time to stay, at least for a good while. With it came blessed, restful sleep at last.

So, Ruby slept.

 

Ͼ

 

On the fifth day, Weiss went shopping.

It wasn’t much of a thing to be made a fuss over, but what she accomplished with it _was_. Perhaps…

She woke up earlier than she’d planned, and found her sleep to have been well and restful indeed. The sun was already shining despite the hour being little past seven. Her body felt relaxed and convalesced, as did her soul in a way. Thus, in the early-morning haze of waking too soon, an interesting thought occurred to Weiss Schnee, once the Snow Queen of her last attended schools.

Coffee was made quickly and a light breakfast consumed while the heiress pondered Ruby’s words yet again. Sipping on her cup, munching on her bowl of cornflakes, entirely ignoring the taste of everything she put in her mouth. It could have been ash and mud, for all Weiss would have noticed. Then, as is often the case of great ideas (even those of lesser greatness), a memory caused Weiss to think of something.

The heiress, in the midst of a sip of her coffee, recalled Levi. By Dust and all the gods, he was quite the handsome man. But more than that—more importantly, that is to say—he seemed fond of a most odd attire. Black on black on black, despite his darker complexion. Those garish cowboy boots, too…

But it was this exact attire that made Weiss think of _it_ , and spurred her on to spill the remaining half of her coffee all upon her lap after a start. It soaked in quick and burned a little, but even this she failed to fully notice. No, for her thought was on this: a man in black.

Cussing absentmindedly under her breath, pawing with a napkin at the large stain on the lap of her nightgown which would soon be refuse in her trashcan, Weiss remembered Ruby’s last goodbye to her sister. The little book (Riddle-de-Dum?) she had tossed onto the coffin, just as the first shovels full of dirt were thrown.

“The man in black fled across the desert…” Weiss muttered.

What followed was swift and fluid, like some cosmic force had planned it out and Weiss was merely following her script. A good actor is swift and a good actor is convincing.

In ten minute’s time, Weiss Schnee stripped bare and dressed anew and gathered up her few necessities, then left her apartment. It wasn’t much after eight when she did.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss Schnee arrived on Librum Avenue, deep in the heart of the finer portion of the University City, at quarter past nine. Yet already was the city alive and bustling, with many students and faculty and business folk going about their daily do’s.

This young woman of silvery-white hair knew well where she meant to be, but a fully new mindset had set its first true work within her this day. Stepping foot from the central transit onto the platform, Weiss was rendered nigh speechless when she took in the glory of Librum Avenue. Shining buildings glinting the early glory of the sun. Sky as blue as fit to rival the cleanest, purest waters. Colorful attire adorning the various passersby, like living rainbows on the move. Wonderful smells of all sorts—acrid stings of coffees, sweet caresses of baked goods, oddly woody and somewhat sour tickles of various teas wafting from the two nearby cafes—that sang as a chorus to her nose.

For a moment, Weiss wondered if she might have taken a medicine and forgotten, now made intoxicated by it. It would never occur to her exactly _why_ everything felt so much more real and lucid this morning, unfortunately.

But, as Weiss Schnee is oft wont to do, the heiress enjoyed the sensations for a moment before putting them from her mind. She had a store to visit and another gift to buy.

 

α

 

The last couple days went by, and the fated day rolled around at last. Ruby spent those last two days in only thought, nothing else. She considered, she replayed the words, she decided her own on the matter, and she hoped. That was probably the largest forward step; _hope_ in her heart for what the terminus of the week would bring.

Break given for rest after the End of Year Finals would also be over in only another week. With the dilemma presently engaged, Ruby worried a little bit as well over how the end of that break would find her. Would the outcome be heartening and uplifting? Securing and what she hoped it would be? Or would it go as she expected, with life shoveling yet another pile of crow atop her head?

But Ruby’s own heart was decided, at the least. If nothing else could be said to have come of this, there was at least that small solace; that miniscule anodyne…

 

Ͼ

 

And when Weiss awoke on the seventh day, the weather was a treat.

Sunny and vibrant and full of wonder, with clouds the puffy white of cotton balls and blue between them like the cleanest mountain spring. The air _smelled_ clean too, in some odd way. Almost like it was purified, perhaps? Given a new facet by her settled heart and determined mind?

But Weiss wasted little of herself considering the treat that was the day. She got up and made herself ready with vim, vigor, and speedy purpose. Even her outfit was selected without much thought, so concentrated was Weiss Schnee on getting where she was going. Words had to be said, gifts had to be given, palaver had to be made. All for the purpose of affirming something not only to herself, but also to that amazing oaf. That adorable, endearing, affable, considerate oaf…

 

Ђ

 

Weiss Schnee left her apartment none too long after ten in the morning. Under her arms, she had two paper bags tucked; one light as air and the other weighing at least two stones, if not a hair more. She made her way to the central transit station bearing those bags with a reverent sort of care, making only one short call with her scroll before boarding the train. The train that would bear her quickly to the dawn of her true Fate in this capricious tale.

Ruby Rose left her apartment that day with naught but a book under one arm. Her bright red cloak lay over her shoulders, billowing lazily as she walked up the street to the station, and the letter from her sister lay wedged in her book. But beyond these few details, Ruby looked little different from any other person that might be going to the station, ready to catch a train to take them anywhere in the city.

Ruby got to the bistro first by a wide margin. It was only a hair past nine, as it turned out, and she wasted little time making her way to the tiny copse of ironwood trees. She could still recall telling Weiss she would be there at the time of their last meeting—much later in the day, that was to be—and decided she wouldn’t mind reading her book until that time rolled around. Another two hours she would wait after that, before chalking this up to yet one more cosmic joke in her life.

Was this a dour way to look at things, to expect them to unfurl? Aye, maybe so. And maybe also it was a pretty shitty way to respond to someone walking out on such a tenuous limb, risking much with just a few simple words. Yet…

Ruby leaned against the tree and slid to a seated position before opening her book. She let her eyes drift to the spot she’d left off, picking up on the adventure of one Geralt of Rivia yet again. A hunter of monsters great and small, one of terrible power who tempered such with great conscience. Witcher, oh Witcher, oh hunter of beasts…

“Sorry…” Ruby muttered as she read the pages and considered her current affairs.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss stepped off the train and onto the platform overlooking the bistro just after eleven. She had gotten sidetracked for a few minutes at the first stop, when she could’ve sworn she saw Levi exiting. The figure was mostly hidden by the crowd but she did spot that familiar black rancher’s hat. This saw her stomach make several quick flips and knots before, remembering why she was on the train at all, Weiss simply let it go.

Now, taking a deep breath to ready herself, Weiss was as prepared as she could get. Weiss Schnee was here, at the platform overlooking the bistro, and Weiss Schnee was full of determination, sure in her words and her intent.

So, Weiss Schnee descended the iron-railed stairs to the street and turned, to face the bistro’s front entry. On she walked, as if she would go in, before diverting herself to where the sidewalk ended in grass. Onto the grass she stepped, ready to find the small copse of ironwood trees and await Ruby—red Rose, oh lovely Rose—and the time of reckoning thereafter.

The heiress’s mind wandered somewhat as she went, thinking of how she might spend the several hours until Ruby arrived. The idea of reading one of the books she had purchased certainly crossed her mind—they did sound interesting, these tales of a lone gunslinger crossing an endless desert to chase a man in black—but it would turn out she had no need to consider such things. For when she arrived, Weiss saw the last thing she had expected to see, there under the largest of those ironwoods.

Leaned against it, open book in her lap, head tilted forward and soft snores escaping her mouth…

“Ruby…” Weiss whispered, then ran.

 

Ђ

 

The culmination came quickly, but not after a bit of palaver did indeed occur.

Weiss at first ran toward where Ruby sat, but slowed to a jog and then a pace. She took those last few steps carefully, almost afraid to wake the woman. Why? Weiss would never actually know, sadly…

The heiress hunkered down beside Ruby. For a moment, she allowed herself to watch the snoozing woman, wondering yet again how things had gotten the way they were. But after that moment passed and Weiss decided it was time, she reached out to Ruby’s left shoulder and pushed just a little too hard.

“Gah!” Ruby yelped, pulled from her nap upon nearly tumbling over.

“I’m sorry!”

Ruby looked over and up, to see the last thing she’d expected. Weiss Schnee, dressed in the most modest attire she surely owned—simple pants and a tee-shirt, nothing flashy or fancy today. On the heiress’s face was the most honest display of emotion Ruby imagined she could show. Actual sorrow for almost pushing her over, and actual surprise. Why the surprise, though?

“It’s alright.” Ruby groaned, clutching her head. A small headache was threatening to rise.

“Really, I’m sorry!” Weiss said again, “I only meant to wake you, not shove you over…”

Ruby’s eyes turned back to Weiss, and now she understood why the surprise. To this, she could not help but to laugh. Fully laugh, with mirth and life behind it.

“What’s so funny?” Weiss asked, honestly curious.

“Nothing at all.” Ruby managed to get out between her laughter. Then, after calming, “Sit down, Weiss. You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

Oh, Heavens to Murgatroyd, wasn’t that the truth?

Weiss huffed—not angrily, only a tad embarrassed—and sat down beside Ruby. With both leaning against the tree, which was more than wide enough, an odd sense of closeness enveloped them. Side by side they found they could both stare at the lake, watch its surface dance brilliantly under the midday sun.

“You thought about it?” Ruby asked at last, after at least five minutes of silent vigil.

“Of course.” Weiss answered simply, “Did you?”

Ruby kept watching the lake, now remembering the passage of her week. Then, with a sigh, “Oh yeah…”

It was the sound of crumpling paper that made Ruby look to her left, to see what the heiress was up to. What filled her vision—brown and fuzzy and soft—was entirely unforeseen.

“It’s for you.” Weiss’s voice trembled.

The raven-headed woman, thoughts reeling with surprise, scooted back before reaching out for the proffered item. She couldn’t make out what it was at first. Still she took it, and stared at it with mouth agape.

“You don’t like it?” Weiss’s voice still trembled, but Ruby almost couldn’t hear her. Too lost.

It took almost a full minute for Ruby to comprehend what she was holding. When that understanding finally dawned on her, she looked up to meet Weiss’s icy eyes. They were full of tears readying to spill out.

“For me?” Ruby barely got the words out, a wheezing whisper.

Weiss ignored her, and proceeded to lay herself bare.

“I never had a teddy bear growing up…” She mused, staring at the lake, “Father always thought they were useless. Trivial things that made children weak, because they reinforced the idea that one was only a child. That one couldn’t start moving toward being a useful member of society. Kind of stupid, now that I think about it…”

Ruby looked back at the stuffed brown bear, its beady black eyes staring at her the same. She touched its left ear, then its right, finding the softness somehow soothing and comforting. Funny, that…

“Always keep your eye on the prize, never stop working toward the next goal. No time to stop and smell the flowers, or watch the birds, or any of that nonsense. Papers have to be written, people have to be met, deals have to be struck. Learn your letters, Weiss; learn that instrument, Weiss; sing at this concert, Weiss…”

Ruby moved her gaze to the heiress again, now stroking the bear’s velvety head as she listened.

“I really didn’t mind pushing myself all the time, you know?” Ruby thought this was an actual question until Weiss immediately continued. “I grew to enjoy striving for the stars themselves, thinking I would one day run the Company and lead it back from the oblivion my father seems so intent on. Why not, anyway? I was greater than all the rest, a true perfection among simple knockoffs…”

One shining tear—caught in the glory of the sun—rolled free down Weiss’s cheek. She turned to meet Ruby’s silver stare, and the rest followed suit. But her voice did not falter, by some miracle or another, as the heiress continued what was nearly a soliloquy by this point.

“I came here thinking this place would be just another stepping stone.” She went on, tears streaming like twin rivers, “Five years of heavy study and learning, then I could vie for father’s place. Then I could start climbing the Company’s ladder, marching ever onward for the top, ready to topple him and steer it back where it belongs. Reclaim my family’s former good name, you know?”

Ruby nodded yes, though she really didn’t. She understood the feeling, the sentiment, but not the actual state of being behind it.

“Then…” Weiss whispered, and finally her voice choked. The heiress sobbed once and pawed at her tear-streaked face. When she opened her eyes again and looked deep into Ruby’s, the phantasmal nature of them was incomprehensible. They were icy blue, just as ever, but now juxtaposed with the red streaks of heavy weeping. Against that crimson tint, their true exquisiteness shone through almost perfectly.

Weiss reined herself under control and managed to finish, saying only, “You.”

“Me?” Ruby responded quickly, entirely lost in the flow of Weiss’s confession.

The heiress sucked up her present emotional turmoil and did her best to right herself. It worked, if only somewhat.

“Any person in their right mind would have sold me out after that incident at the club.” Weiss said. When Ruby only continued to stare, confused, she added: “When I lost my mask.”

Ruby nodded at that, understanding now, and Weiss went on.

“You could have blackmailed me, or sold me out to my father, or heavens only know what. In any of these cases, you could have made yourself a sizable fortune, Ruby Rose.

“But you didn’t, and I’m sure _I_ will never truly understand why. I see now I don’t need to, though. I see a lot of things better, more clearly now. Mostly thanks to you.” Weiss stopped and thought about this, then added: “ _All_ thanks to you.”

Now it was all coming roundabout, and Weiss steeled herself to give her answer. The week had gone a ridiculous direction—she had fully expected to spend the first half of the break _much_ differently—but upon thinking about it, Weiss could see it more or less _had_ to go this direction. She had stepped out on a tenuous branch indeed, without giving any real thought to all the implications of her statement.

So in the end, this really was the only path to take. Wasn’t it?

“You told me to think about it—decide if I was sure of what I meant, and whether I was willing to risk so much for this—didn’t you?”

Icy-blue eyes stared deep into Ruby’s, feeling like they were looking into her soul. All she could muster for response was to nod her head once.

“I thought.” Weiss went on, looking away, “I thought a whole lot, and you know what I found out?” She didn’t wait for a response this time. “I found out that I’m different now. It hasn’t quite been a year, but I’m _very_ different from when I met you. Easiest way to know that is because I kinda hated you, especially for that first week. And the week after. The week after that one, also…”

The heiress shook her head, like she was trying to coax it back on track.

“But when you showed me that side of you—the caring side that was so concerned for me, with no thought for your own gain—I guess something just… broke? Snapped into place? Melted?” That last one sounded right, so Weiss nodded to herself before continuing. The light at the tunnel’s end was so close now.

“My answer is this, Ruby. This to everything and anything…”

She turned to look at Ruby, to meet her eyes one of the last times as only friends.

“Yes.” Weiss said.

 

Ω

 

Ruby Rose opened her mouth slightly to respond, but was shut up completely. Weiss Schnee moved like greased lightning to cross the two feet between their faces, planting her lips to Ruby’s hard and fast.

The raven-headed woman reeled in shock at first, jerking back instinctively, but found it not such a terrible thing. Weiss’s arms snaked around her neck and pulled her closer, and Ruby returned this gesture after a moment. Only a moment. Only a _warm_ moment.

Then, the embrace ended as quickly as it began. Weiss pulled her lips and face away, released her arms from Ruby’s neck, and sat up.

“Sorry for the theft.” Weiss said, looking away. Blushing terribly. Red fire in her cheeks.

Ruby was panting, her face also flushed and now terribly hot.

“I love you, Ruby Rose.” Yet, Weiss would not— _could not_ —look at her as she said this. Too damn embarrassed, by miles. “Not like a friend, certainly _not_ like a sister. I love you, just like that. Nothing more, nothing less…”

The daughter of Taiyang and Summer stared at the heiress with unhidden shock. It felt as if every last doubtful chain in her heart had now melted, replaced with the levitating weightlessness of elated joy. Was she happy to hear those words?

Why, was not the ocean made of water?

But, Ruby had words of her own to impart. So she set the teddy bear down, on her lap, and scooted closer until her knees nearly sat on Weiss’s.

“You really mean it?” Ruby mused, but the heiress took it as a question.

“Didn’t I just ex—” Weiss was cut off.

It was Ruby now that pulled Weiss into an embrace, meeting their lips with gentleness rather than swift force. Weiss did not reel as Ruby had—for shock or anything else—but instead pushed into that kiss, both their arms now about the other.

Thus they sat for a time, until lack of air forced their parting. Huffing and puffing and panting a storm, eyes wild and faces streaked with sweat. The heiress’s face also had tears upon it, but whether they were hers alone or both of theirs was beyond the knowledge or care of these two.

“I couldn’t give the lesser of two shits what I’m risking.” Weiss said, the vulgarity of her words ignored, speaking in absolute truth, “You mean more to me than I can explain, Ruby Rose. I’m really not sure how that happened—and frankly, my lady, I don’t give a damn—but it happened, and now it’s true. Would you gainsay me?”

Ruby tilted her head, unsure what Weiss meant.

“Nevermind. I’ve said my piece. So, would you have me, Ruby? Will you accept my honest love?”

This was turning out like some cheap soap opera, a fact that brought levity to both their hearts. Weiss realized her words sounded more like they belonged in an olden play, not coming from the mouth of one such as herself—young and modern and elite. Did this truly matter, though?

“What you did for me, Weiss…” Ruby began, staring at the woman so close to her, “I’m really not sure how to say it. You think I did so much for you, and I think you’ve done so much for me…”

It was her turn now, as it seemed, but Ruby found her vocabulary empty. Her mind too, for that matter. Something was burning hotter than fiery brimstone within her.

Instead of trying any further, Ruby shook her head a few times and looked down at the teddy in her lap. She touched one of its beady eyes, felt the smooth stone it was carved from, and let her own inner turmoil out. Weiss had bared herself, now it seemed Ruby would do the same.

“I still can’t believe I’m here.” She mused, rubbing the teddy’s smooth eye, “I’m going to the Schnee Management Training University, studying psychology and all this other amazing stuff. I’m on track to get one of the most valuable degrees in the world. A degree that would open the door to nearly _any_ job I could want…

“Yang’s gone, though. I never knew my mom, and my sister’s gone to join her now. I still want to make my dad proud, but I can’t ever show Yang what I’ve done with her gift, now can I?”

Ruby looked up at Weiss, forgetting the teddy’s smooth stone eye.

“I would’ve thrown that all away seven days ago, Weiss.” Ruby said, grave as death, “I would’ve gotten on that train and ridden out of the city, to the nearest airship I could find that would take me to Patch. What would I have done after that? I’m not even sure myself, you know? But I would’ve gone at least that far, I know…

“But you stopped me, didn’t you?” Now Ruby’s voice was barely a whisper, but no less grave, “You stopped me, and you said you love me. I told you to go off and think about it, like some kind of chastising shrew.”

Weiss opened her mouth to disagree, but was silenced when one of Ruby’s slender fingers pressed against her lips.

“Yet here you are, one week later like we agreed. Early, even. And what do you say now, after thinking it over?”

A minute passed, they both stared into the other’s eyes. Once Weiss was sure Ruby would not go on, she said the only thing left to say. The only sensible response.

“I love you.” Weiss echoed the words, and Ruby smiled so wide it looked like her face must surely fall in half.

“Yeah,” Ruby whispered, “you did…”

Ruby pulled Weiss into a hug. It was at an awkward angle and hurt a little, but neither cared. They were lost in the sensation of their bodies pressed together, exchanging human warmth that let both know how true this all was. How simply right.

“What do I say, you ask?” Ruby murmured into Weiss’s ear.

“What do you say?” Weiss echoed a whisper in response.

Ruby broke the embrace and looked into Weiss’s eyes for the last time as her friend. From then on, it would be a person of different standing—still the same Ruby—that Weiss looked upon.

“I say I love you too, Weiss.”

With that reciprocating declaration, they shared one more kiss under the ironwood tree.

 

Λ

 

_And so, they embraced, the first act fully resolved._

_Resolution proper, no?_

_But the second act began with that same embrace. Now we reach that beginning, and the tale will go on. They have decided how that tale will proceed, so we must watch them navigate the treacherous waters they set sail in._

_Dance on Roses, and be merry, and be with great joy._

_O’ Discordia…_


	2. Of Songbirds and Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally intended to write this all as a single novel before posting any. However, due to personal circumstances, I am going to write this (and all future fanfictions) as I did my first few. That is, I will be writing chapters and subsequently posting them. I hope you will all enjoy this tale as we go along, and that my efforts at improving my craft are not in vain.
> 
> Without further ado, I present to you all...

Chapter 1

Of Songbirds and Letters

 

Ϯ – A Forward Note

 

This all began with a question. A pondering on destiny, and the meaning of our endless struggle to exert dominance over that indominable force. Fate, oh hallowed, harrowed Siren. Oh, briefly noticed ghost…

Two Roses, one of red and one of white, began a dance in that question. A merry tune enveloped them and eclipsed their lives, which began separate but became intertwined. That tune—that sweetly hollow serenade—is what we call _love_. A gentle creature, one that comes and goes of its own volition only. A sickly flame that we must encapsulate, and thereafter nourish in our bosoms, if it is ever to properly enkindle.

What, then, does Fate play as part of this tale? Could any such role go beyond the trite and contrived, the overstated platitude and overused cliché?

Perhaps. And perhaps we shall see that, as we now reengage the tale of these two Roses. For they do dance on, into a deeper role that they themselves must play. Love is the catalyst that binds them to this, what will terminate as a mournful melody within the fabric of Creation and what lies beyond. They must play this part well. They must find deeper of themselves and of that briefly glimpsed ghost, and also of that gentle creature that now stirs lively within them.

A Rose dreams only of the warm sun, under which it may unfurl its bright petals and praise the day with all its glorious splendor. For these Roses, that sun is each other. They will dream of it long, and we will follow them into that dream.

And that dream, as so very many others, will be long and harrowing. Yet, not unrewarding…

 

α

 

And so it came to pass, the last day of post-finals break. It was another sunny day. Another indicator that Spring was indeed early and had no intention of retreating. No, Spring was here to stay, and in all honesty, every inhabitant of the University City said thank you. Few with mouth and word, but all with their thoughts.

Even Ruby, over whose head the specter of her departed sister still hung. That passage had left a hole in her heart—one that might never fully fill—but its effect this day was greatly diminished. Birds sang in the air, trees and bushes and flowers of all sorts bloomed with many-colored buds. Blue skies were smattered here and there with fluffy cotton puffs of cloud, lazily passing on the faintest breeze. Even the air smelled cleaner, despite the distinct mark of civilization and all its terrible odors. Sunshine, fresh air, gorgeous sky, and colorful scenery.

It was as if the very world itself were singing glory in the highest for her. For what she now had, to cherish and eagerly watch grow. A sweet, gentle anodyne to her ailing heart. Succoring water for that harrowing flame. A new flame; a _White_ flame. A gentle push to let go of the hurt and believe it would go away, even if only to somewhere much deeper within her.

To Ruby, the woman walking across the street toward her—silver hair glinting in the unhindered sun, icy blue eyes sparkling with vigor—was a panacea.

Ah, but maybe that was just the coffee talking…

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss had awoken early this day to butterflies in her stomach and fresh crimson on her face. A lingering dream still danced playfully in her mind, its picturesque presentation of her inner wishes a very welcome reprieve.

She had gone to bed the previous night worrying a little. The last two weeks had done much to set that about, but it had taken until only the last couple days to really strike her. Ruby’s words, that is, and what truth lay within them. Of the risks Weiss took saying what she had said. Of the possible travesty her choice might bring about. Worst of all however, of the possible—and _intentional_ —slaying of one dream to replace it with another.

And so, when Weiss had gone to bed at last, her thoughts were chasing those things. Bringing her visions of her father and his disappointment. Making her to look upon the family name she so desperately wished to pull from the mud, and realize that might be a bygone aspiration. Screaming at her in the muted breath of twilight pre-sleep how audacious, how simply _unheard of_ this path she’d now chosen was.

But with sleep came dreams. With those dreams came brief glimpses of hope, of a possible brightness awaiting her at the end of the tunnel. With that hope came her refreshed, albeit embarrassedly blushing, awakening.

When she awoke, she greeted the day in a manner unbefitting of the old Weiss Schnee. She sat up and stretched, truly excited to see the sun casting golden eyelashes through her window shades. She simply sat there for a while, breathing the flowery scent of the air in her room, enjoying the muted sweetness of it. When she did finally stand to dress, Weiss did so humming a little tune—one she’d once been forced to sing to for one of her father’s galas, hosted to raise money for the company. Even in the hallway, walking to the exit and the beautiful day beyond, she continued to hum.

For once in a very long time, Weiss was truly happy. To be alive. To be off and about. To be headed into the city, for to see someone now very dear to her. Most of all perhaps, she was happy just to _have_ Ruby. A friend oh so close, oh so cherished, oh so dear…

Could we get a Hallelujah?

 

Ђ

 

Café Atlas is what the locals called it. In truth, the place was just another little coffee shop with another forgettable little name. Weiss and Ruby weren’t much different toward it. The place was conveniently located about halfway between the both of them, facing a nice little park with a small lake. It was picturesque. It was relaxing and laidback. One might find snobby or prudish folk here—the hipsters and elite of the University City—but such was the same for any other establishment save for the dives and truly out-of-the-way places.

A quarter past noon was when Weiss finally showed up. Ruby had already been there for a good half hour, her first cup of coffee drained and her second now half gone. Ruby’s silver eyes excitedly watched Weiss cross the street, clearly none too put out for the wait.

“Hi Weiss!” She called.

Weiss only waved back, not wanting to raise her voice.

It was a bit windy this day, and a sudden gust arose out of nowhere. The breeze played with both women’s hair, tossing Ruby’s across her eyes and Weiss’s toward her right shoulder. Ruby snorted a giggle at the sight as Weiss’s ponytail appeared to swat at something—alive, if you will.

The heiress hurried on over, wondering what Ruby was giggling at, and took a seat.

“I see you went ahead and ordered.” Weiss said.

“I’m a little sleepy. Needed a pick-me-up.”

Ruby took a sip of her coffee and Weiss flagged down a barista. She gave her order, then looked at her friend across the table. There was something particularly pronounced about her eyes today, Weiss could see. Like an extra glimmer or sparkle.

“You said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yup!” Ruby answered, quick and chipper.

Weiss watched her for a moment, then pressed, “Anything in particular?”

She watched Ruby fidget around before producing a book and laying it on the table between them. ‘Blood of Elves’ its title read, and about two-thirds the way through, an envelope stuck out as a rudimentary or hasty bookmark. Weiss couldn’t tell which.

“Another good book for me to read?” Weiss asked.

“No, not the book.” Ruby opened it and removed the envelope, replaced it with a napkin. “I wanted to ask you a favor is all.”

Now, Weiss was getting a bit curious. The envelope looked familiar somehow—yellowed paper, stained here and there with water or something similar, sealed with wax of all things—but she couldn’t recall why right that moment. Ruby looked almost reverent sitting there, the way she was staring at it. Like the thing might bite her if she didn’t handle it just properly, and she would deserve every bit of it. A remorseful, almost penitent look, face poorly hiding a grimace.

But still, that sparkle in her silver eyes.

“You know I’m not going to turn you down.” Weiss said, briefly stealing Ruby’s gaze back. “Let me hear it.”

For a moment, it seemed Ruby might think better of her request. As though she would simply return the envelope to her book and brush the subject off. She rubbed the edges between her thumb and forefinger, looking at it. Then she looked up at Weiss.

“I want you to stay the night at my place.” Ruby said, almost declared.

Poor Weiss had no idea whatsoever how to respond to that. Her mouth dropped open and she made no notice of the returning barista, steaming cup of tea in hand. Oh, her mind certainly had notions of what Ruby intended. They were wrong for the most part, but they were certainly discomfiting all the same.

“Why?” Weiss managed to choke out at last.

Now it was Ruby’s turn to blush and fall silent, though not for long.

Perhaps a minute passed before she said, “Because, I think I’m going to need you tonight,” and placed the envelope on the table to point at it.

“Is that for me?” Weiss asked, looking at the worn thing.

“No!”

Ruby snatched it up, hugged it to herself. Frightfully almost, as though Weiss had threatened to eat it. At first, Weiss nearly laughed at this. Then she saw the truly fearful look in Ruby’s (still glimmering) eyes, and held the giggles back.

“What is it, then?” Weiss persisted. “You need me to read a letter with you?”

“I know we just got together and all,” Ruby started, returning the envelope to her book as she went, “and I know it’s kinda sudden. But, I don’t think I can read this alone. The letter, I mean. Don’t you remember where I got it?”

Ruby gave Weiss a pleading look, and the heiress felt more than a little guilty to shake her head no.

“When we met my sister’s partner—Blake—in Patch. Just before the funeral…”

Suddenly, Weiss realized what the glimmer was. Tears hiding behind a sunny day, mournful thoughts held back by a gorgeous clime. Oh, the shame.

“Wait… It’s _that_ letter?” Weiss asked, afraid to hear an answer.

Ruby gave none, only nodded her head once. She put the book back on her lap, under the table, and tried to give Weiss a strong smile.

“Will you come stay the night with me?” Ruby asked again, trying to hide the pleading behind her off kilter grin.

Weiss’s answer was voiceless. She reached across the table to take hold of Ruby’s hands in both of her own, locked eyes with her…

And nodded also.

 

Ђ

 

Weiss was more than a little nervous when she first arrived at Ruby’s apartment. She’d only gone to her own long enough to pack a few sundries and a change of clothes, and so had little time to mentally ready herself.

Of course, one might think the whole ordeal something simple. And in all truth, it really was. They were newly declared in their relationship and this stayover amounted to little more than a friendly thing, yet there was that burning intensity to it as well. A tension onset by the source of their flame, off in the seedier portion of the University City. When Weiss and Ruby had both remained hidden from the other, and where the former had seen most all there was to see of the latter.

Thus, at three in the afternoon when Weiss arrived, her pale face was shaded scarlet and her whole body felt ready to burst aflame. Sweat trickled down her temples in soft runners, little enough to keep from showing but more than enough for her to feel. Of course, Ruby had opened the door with another of her usual goofy smiles and yet more of her cheerful vigor and that did settle Weiss a little at least.

“Welcome, welcome!” Ruby declared happily.

Weiss smiled in return.

“I got some tea boiling. Go find a seat and I’ll bring yours.” Ruby motioned toward the inside and Weiss stepped in.

The heiress looked around for a seat as Ruby ran off toward the little nook of a kitchen. Wasn’t far to run, but she seemed a bit more energetic than earlier and did so anyway. Weiss smiled again at this. Turning away, her gaze found the futon couch and she decided it would do fine.

“Hey, Ruby!”

“Uh huh?”

“Where should I put my bag?” Weiss held up the thing, though Ruby couldn’t see it.

“You brought a bag?!” Ruby yelled with a hardly hidden snort of laughter.

Feeling a tad embarrassed for heavens knew why, Weiss dropped it back to her lap. She thought about not responding at first but decided this would be rude.

“One needs their essentials…” Weiss muttered to herself. Then, loud enough for Ruby to hear, “Yeah, I brought a bag! Now where can I put it?!”

Of course, most of this shouting—or slightly-raised-voice speaking as it were—was not wholly necessary, even at first. But somehow, they’d both set to it and Ruby found it to be a wonderful joke. She returned to Weiss with two mugs of tea steaming angrily—and most pleasingly aromatic to boot—and a wide grin across her soft features.

The heiress did not see her, looking instead at something else in the other direction, so Ruby leaned in close.

“Anywhere’s fine!” Ruby shouted playfully.

Weiss jumped and almost fell over. Ruby burst into giggles, quite pleased with herself, and nearly spilled both their drinks.

“Ruby you dolt!” Weiss seethed, turning to face her. “You’ll give someone a heart attack!”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Weiss.” Ruby handed the fuming woman her tea and sat down on the futon. “So, what’cha wanna do tonight?”

The heiress gave her another ireful look before sitting down. She tried to take a sip of the tea, then set it on the little table before them when she found it too hot.

“I came over for you, remember? You do still want me with you for that letter, right?”

Ruby didn’t bother with her own tea, only set it beside Weiss’s and said, “Yeah. I do. But before things get heavy, why don’t we watch a movie or play a game? Or something…”

The woman began to fidget nervously. Weiss watched her from the corner of her eye, one end of her mouth trying to twitch into a half grin. She wouldn’t let it, of course, as she felt she’d come here in a more businesslike capacity. Which is not to say she didn’t enjoy the idea of watching a movie with Ruby.

_It’s what I would do with my girlfriend, right?_

Weiss shivered when this thought raced briefly through her mind. The concept wasn’t off putting, but it was still unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable. Like a new pair of good boots—odd at first, off kilter and foreign, but cherished once settled into.

“You there, Weiss?”

Hearing her name, Weiss shook her head a bit and looked over. Ruby sat there staring at her, blinking comically.

“Did you go off somewhere?” Ruby asked, smirking coyly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Weiss answered with a sigh. “Off to visit my senses and ask them to come home. It’s dreadful here in my mind without them, you know?”

It took a moment for the joke to sink in. So long in fact, Weiss had time to consider trying her tea to see if it might be drinkable yet. She began to wonder if it had gone over Ruby’s head until the raven-headed beauty blushed and turned to stare at her own mug of tea. With that, Weiss knew it had broken through.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Ruby stood, crossed the small living area to her smaller tele and the stand beneath it. She knelt down and opened it up, then began to dig around for something. Weiss watched her for a moment, wondering what she was looking for, before realizing where her eyes had affixed themselves.

The heiress averted her gaze quickly and kept it so until Ruby’s voice drew her back.

“Aha!” The woman exclaimed. She came back to Weiss with four blue boxes in her arms. “Here,” she said, and handed them to her.

“What are these?” Weiss asked with earnest curiosity, already reading the titles.

“My favorite games ever!” Ruby answered proudly. “Morrowind, Demon’s Souls, Dragon’s Dogma, and Mass Effect Three.”

Weiss looked from these to the woman before her.

“You’re giving them to me?”

Of course, Ruby gave her a perplexed look for this. Surely even Weiss—sheltered and introverted though she may have been—couldn’t be so obtuse. But the silver-haired woman gave her only a confused look in return, so Ruby sat down beside her and calmly removed the games from her grasp.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ruby pondered aloud. “Please tell me you know what a videogame is…”

“Of course I do!” Weiss was almost immediately defensive. “I’m just curious why you’re showing me these, handing them to me, if you’re not giving them to me.”

Ruby burst into laughter, sudden and loud. It went on for nearly half a minute.

“You really are serious.” Ruby said, wiping tears away. “I want you to _play them with me_ , you big silly!”

Weiss gave a perfunctory harrumph and said, “I knew that. I was just… just testing you, is all.”

The heiress looked away for a moment, arms crossed in feigned temper. When she chanced to sneak a peek at Ruby, she saw those silver eyes staring at her with incredulity. Weiss looked away again, but only for a moment this time as both burst into laughter shortly thereafter.

When it passed them, Ruby was first to speak.

“I brought these with me from Patch thinking I’d get to play them during my downtime. I had no idea this school wasn’t going to give me any.”

“You came here, knowing what this place was, thinking you’d have _downtime_?” Weiss sounded honestly surprised.

“Yes.” Ruby answered simply.

Weiss looked at the games in Ruby’s lap. All four, fanned out like a hand of cards, looked worn and well-used. Not neglected or poorly cared for, but obviously opened and closed many times, taken from and returned to their resting places many and more times. And in the now-fading light of the sun crawling through Ruby’s window—made weaker by her apartment’s poor location to begin with, and setting early due to it still technically being Winter—Weiss believed she could almost make out something recently scratched off on one of them.

Faint traces of permanent marker, likely wiped down with alcohol and scrubbed off with a coin or some such. One letter was almost legible, looking a bit like a ‘Y’ to the heiress.

“I suppose I could give them a go.” Weiss said at last. She looked from the games to Ruby, curiosity on her own face this time. “Which one should I try first, then?”

For a moment, Ruby considered being kind and suggesting one of the two easier ones. Then she considered the slightly harder Morrowind, remembering the beauty of its locales and the serenity of its musical score. However, the raven-headed beauty at last settled on being a bit mischievous with her now much closer friend.

_Your girlfriend_ …

Ruby heard this (or perhaps thought this?) like a passing whisper in her head. She only barely noticed it.

“I think you’d like this one best.” Ruby answered, holding out the worn copy of Demon’s Souls.

The heiress took it and turned it over to read the description on the back. The last time she’d played a game was when everything was blatantly made of pixels and scrolled sideways. At the time, most games could be broken down to ‘ _go right and jump_ ,’ with corny music numbers synthesized on computers that sounded like screeching banshees to Weiss’s discerning ears. Unforgiving difficulty had at the time nearly turned her off the medium for good.

She had no idea what she was about to get into when Ruby took the game back and handed her a controller, one shaped nothing like what Weiss remembered.

“The story’s pretty long and easy to miss.” Ruby said as she began to set it all up. “Just concentrate on having some fun with it, ok? We don’t have close to enough time to try and progress through the whole thing for narrative.”

Maybe the heiress would have played anyway, even if Ruby had been upfront about the game’s difficulty. Like as not she would have, considering how much she was already enjoying just being over. Since their mutual confession and acceptance, neither woman had really had much to do with the other. Sure, they had sent texts and talked over their scrolls twice, but they had not been around each other in person.

If nothing else did, this feeling alone told Weiss her dreams from that morning might not be unrealistic. She still recalled her harrowing thoughts before bed from the previous night, as well as the remnants of those soothing dreams. Perhaps she could truly see this all through, despite having no real experience or logic to guide her feet on this unknown path, through this unknown door.

Now if Weiss could have applied this thought-process to her gaming session this eve, she might not have gotten so flustered…

 

Ђ

 

It was almost six in the evening when Weiss had finally had enough.

“ _Bullshit!_ ” She shouted, raising the controller as if she would throw it.

Ruby was almost too busy laughing to snatch the thing from her hand before the heiress could, but somehow still managed. Never had she seen Weiss come so completely unglued—excepting, of course, that terrible time in the alley, where their relationship had truly begun—and the spectacle was duly amusing. Even Weiss was more than a little into it, though her current temper kept her from expressing or realizing this.

“Are there no safe corners in this stupid game?!” Weiss shouted again.

“Nothing’s safe in a Souls game, Weiss.”

The heiress sat back down, visibly seething. She looked like a teakettle ready to boil over, a cluster of veins beating noticeably on her right temple. Her face was almost as red as Ruby’s cloak, for fury this time rather than embarrassment.

“I honestly don’t know how you could ever consider this fun.” Weiss went on. “There’s simply no point to it! You run around forever to find anything, getting lost at every turn, only for some little _shit_ to pop out of nowhere and kill you in one go! How is that fun, I ask you?!”

Weiss looked at Ruby, who only sat there grinning from ear to ear.

“Wanna see?” Ruby offered, sly twinkle in her eye.

Weiss gave a harrumphing, almost pouty gesture and crossed her arms. She leaned back on the futon couch, muttering something or other.

“What was that?” Ruby pressed.

“I said sure! Show me!”

Weiss sounded like a petulant child, but Ruby could see she was enraged and perhaps a bit ashamed of her underperformance. Knowing the heiress and her unusually high standards for herself, Ruby felt a little sorry for tricking her. It was all in good fun, aye, but it might have been a bit far.

“It’s all about timing, Weiss.” Ruby said, turning her attention to the screen. “Watch me and I’ll show you.”

So, Weiss observed Ruby’s deft execution of movement, swift and nimble dodging of enemy attacks. It was like a different person had come out, one who understood the finer details of careful and conservative actions taken to achieve a long-term goal.

Before long, Ruby reached the point that had become Weiss’s bane. The heiress watched her roll into the room rather than running or walking, thereby dodging the tricky ambusher. Ruby then turned the character and engaged a different foe—one Weiss hadn’t lived long enough to see—and made short work of it before dealing with the first. Though she had taken no time in dispatching her initial target, Ruby danced around the ambusher until the proper moment presented.

“And now…” Ruby started, lunging in to take her shot. “See? You gotta wait for the right moment, stay away from the hits rather than trying to avoid or weather through them. Bait your enemy, then strike when he’s open.”

What was this? Ruby showing Weiss how to properly perform something? Oh sure, it was something Weiss had little experience with, but that made it no less surprising.

“You made that look easy…” Weiss mused aloud.

“Nah, not really.” Ruby shyly scratched the back of her head. “I’ve put a _lot_ of hours into this. I’m rusty though, so it’s pretty surprising I can still manage. Souls games aren’t forgiving of even the slightest mistakes.”

“So I see…”

“Your turn again.”

Weiss looked to the woman beside her, controller in hand. The smile was gone from her face but the energy of the moment was still there. That slightly glowing enjoyment of someone very special showing an interest in a much-enjoyed hobby. At first Weiss took the little plastic instrument, even turned back to the screen and started going at it again. She got maybe halfway to another encounter before she decided it was time.

“Ruby…” Weiss muttered at first, setting the controller in her lap as her arms went slack, “I came here to help you, remember? With something _hard_. Something you really shouldn’t do alone…”

She leaned forward and set the controller by their forgotten mugs of tea, now thoroughly cold and settled. Sitting back up slowly, Weiss turned her gaze to Ruby. She wasn’t too terribly surprised to see the woman’s cheery air mostly gone.

For a little while, Weiss just studied Ruby’s face. Ruby in return fidgeted a bit but did nothing else. It was just a sort of silence between them for a time, Demon’s Souls playing its muted sound effects as a sort of background theme to it all. During this, Weiss thought about her own childhood briefly. The long, unpleasant nights of study and practice—stringed instruments, foreign languages, myriad other tasks and drills—would never really leave the back of her mind. But tonight, this served as a boon to her. A little spark found its way into Weiss’s head as she stared into Ruby’s eyes, lost in her memories and her love’s beauty.

The heiress began to softly hum a tune. Ruby nearly didn’t hear it over the wind billowing in the game. When the soft tune finally caught Ruby’s ears it was cut short and Weiss filled the silence between them instead with words.

Oh my, they were _haunting_.

 

Λ

 

Lost in her head. Lost in her memories. Lost in the silver eyes staring back at her…

Weiss recalled a night when, after failing to meet her father’s expectations at a practice recital, she found her way into her room a teary, bleary mess. The door swung open violently and shook the wall, knocking askew some few portraits hanging just to the left. The little heiress—hardly two months past her twelfth birthday—rushed in and began to stumble after only four steps. She tripped over her own feet and fell, knocking her elbow on the hard floor.

It would leave a miserable bruise on the morrow.

Heaving and panting, pawing tenderly at the red mark on her face from her father’s hand, she just lay there. Tears were stinging now and drying sticky on her face. They were uncomfortable and embarrassing, but thankfully no one was here to see it. She just took a moment and lay there, trying to compose herself.

Maybe five minutes passed, maybe ten, but whichever it was enough. Able to breathe a little better and able to pick herself up—hissing at the blooming pain in her elbow—Weiss got to her feet and sauntered to her vanity. She sat on her fancy stool and looked at herself in the mirror.

By Jove, she was a mess. Hair askew and flyaways poking out at all points, formerly sleek ponytail now all but loosed from her jewel-studded hairband. Mascara running down her cheeks like dark, oily tears. Lips swollen a tad on the left side, as though the scar she already had weren’t something to be afraid of repeating. Whole face splotchy and red with fury, embarrassment, and indignation.

Then, staring into the mirror, that tune came to her. It was a distorted form of the one she’d been singing to earlier, before her stressed outburst had caused her father to so violently express his disappointment. But, perhaps distorted wasn’t quite right…

Sure, it was different. Slower and calmer, and nowhere near so insistent of itself in her head. Yet, it wasn’t _bad_ in its difference. In fact, one might could argue it was _better_.

Trying to calm herself more, Weiss hummed the tune. It worked. She could quite immediately feel her heart slowing and her blood cooling, even the throbbing in her cheek and elbow started to abate a tad. So, she put more of herself into it. Let the breath flow evenly from her lungs which were only minutes earlier hiccupping with tears. Let the superior version of that drab melody play through her mind and perform through her teeth and tongue and lips.

Then inspiration struck in a most strange manner and Weiss began to add words to it. First in her head, but before long she found herself performing this new song for her vanity mirror.

How did it go again?

 

Ͼ

 

“Mirror, mirror, what’s behind you? Will you save me from the things I see?”

Perhaps even Weiss didn’t realize she was singing, and perhaps more, Ruby didn’t either. The words just flowed into the heiress from that deep-seated memory, passing her mind and heading straight for her vocal chords. Then over her tongue and between her lips, only to come out as some sort of seraphic cry. Oh, but Weiss _did_ feel the tears that came with it, yet made no move to wipe them away.

“Years of scorn will leave you cold… Forget your dreams, do what you’re told…”

Weiss went on, for she could do little else. No idea why and no inclination to even question it.

“When disapproval is all you’re shown, the safest place becomes alone. Isolation is the price I paid; no need for friendship, just pushed away…”

Her tears got in the way finally and Weiss choked up, halting her melancholic performance. She stopped and breathed a few deep breaths to try and bid it away. She was shaking now and really had no clue why.

But then, a warmth on her leg. Her knee to be specific, and when Weiss looked up she saw Ruby was only a foot from her at the most. Weiss smiled at this and found her volition again, and so tried to let that serenade fill her once more. It came as natural as a blink.

“But bit by bit now, a step each day… I’m slowly starting to find my way.”

Ruby scooted closer, leaned in and silenced the heiress before she could utter another verse. Lips pressed together softly, gently hushing. Weiss let herself melt into it.

Then Ruby pulled away, as suddenly as she had engaged. Weiss watched her, wanting that meeting to commence again. Instead, Ruby surprised her. _She_ began to hum, a much more upbeat sort of thing it was. And lo, she was smiling as she did. Such a vibrant thing that Weiss couldn’t help but to return it, finally wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She hummed for a little while just as the heiress had, swaying side to side as she did. This entranced Weiss, and she did not notice at first when Ruby’s voice turned from hummed tune to quietly chanted verse.

“Waiting on the sunrise… One to guide me home…

“It’s a dark night and I don’t want to go alone…

“When the sun hides and that night stays long…

“I’ll sit down… I’ll sing this song…”

Ruby stopped there for a breath. Her chest felt tight, despite how releasing it was to relive this memory. Oh, it was no light or painless thing, but recalling happiness from sorrow was very soothing all the same.

She took a deep breath and started humming again, carrying on for a while before singing once more.

“Waiting on the sunrise… Watching those shadowed hills…

“When it’s dark and that wind harshly chills…

“Make a bed of tinder and strike some matchsticks…

“Sit there calm… Watch the fire’s tricks…

“It’s a dark night and I don’t want to go alone…

“By the fire, I’ll wait for the sunrise…

“One to carry me home…”

 

Ђ

 

Ruby let the last verse hang on her breath, then fell silent. Weiss was awestruck. She’d heard her sing at the Siren’s Call, but it was nothing like this. There it had been a haunting melody and verse, both; here it was an emotional thing, a peek into Ruby’s very soul so far as the heiress could tell.

About a minute after Ruby finished, she turned around abruptly and fell onto Weiss’s lap. This startled the heiress at first but she settled into it as well without much hesitation. She even leaned a little closer and pulled Ruby into something of a hug, though it was too bent and awkward to truly be called such.

“Your voice is pretty, Weiss.”

“You’re not so bad either.”

On another day, Ruby would’ve giggled at that. Weiss too for that matter. But today was not one of those other days, though there was no longer a malaise or pallor hanging around them. It was just a sort of tired silence. Neither could find laughter in that, though they did find content warmth in each other’s arms.

The heiress held her love and Ruby let herself drift a little in that embrace. It felt like she was being cradled almost. As they sat like this, a few strands of Weiss’s hair slipped free of the band holding it in her signature ponytail. These loose strands flittered down to tickle Ruby’s nose and she sneezed after only a moment of it. A squeaky but loud sneeze, one she barely managed to cover.

“Bless you.” Weiss cooed, flashing a soft grin.

Ruby opened her eyes and looked into the staring, icy eyes above her.

“You’re awfully warm for an Ice Queen, you know?”

“And you’re incredibly strong for a Rose.” Weiss answered. Hearing her old nickname—which Ruby likely picked up around campus, considering it followed Weiss everywhere like a lost puppy—didn’t bother her in the slightest. Matter of fact, the heiress didn’t find the idea of _Ruby_ calling her this all that awful.

“No, I’m not, not really…” Ruby muttered.

“Oh?” Weiss brushed her hair behind her ear so she could see Ruby clearer. “So you’re telling me I’m _wrong_?”

“I am.”

“And why is that, then?”

At this, Ruby looked away. She even tried to turn over so she could hide her face from the heiress. Weiss, of course, was not about to have that, not after coming so far with this.

If one had asked her at that very moment, and if Weiss had answered in truth, she’d have vehemently declared the situation to be wholly taxing and unnerving. She was in a territory of human closeness she honestly had never known to exist, at least not in a way she believed. Sure, she’d held some stock in the fairytales that all young girls are fond of, once upon a time…

But here, Weiss Schnee was in open ocean so far as her experience and firsthand knowledge was concerned. She’d come this far like that and would brook no deterrence to her forward progress.

Gentle but firm, Weiss took hold of Ruby’s right shoulder and pulled. It took a little effort, but Ruby relented and rolled onto her back again without a fuss.

“I really miss her.” Ruby said almost immediately. She still wouldn’t look Weiss in the eye.

Weiss said nothing, only ran her hand softly down Ruby’s cheek. It was so warm.

“I should be happy right now, shouldn’t I?”

Ruby’s eyes were pleading, but Weiss still would not answer. Instead, she ran her hand along Ruby’s face once more, and another time after that. The woman in her lap found this very soothing and was oh so thankful for how Weiss’s touch seemed to frighten the tears away.

“I’m at a fantastic school, I’ve got such an amazing fri—” Ruby stopped and began to blush. “Such an amazing girlfriend…” She finished, wanting sorely to hide her face again.

“Don’t forget that loving father of yours.” Weiss added. There was a tiny touch of venom in her voice that neither noticed, thankfully.

“Oh, yeah. _And_ my Uncle Qrow…”

Weiss tilted her head at that but didn’t ask. Inexperienced as she might have been, even she knew this wasn’t the time to pry. This was the time to let Ruby get whatever was on her chest off, at her own pace and in her own way.

It relieved Weiss to see her crack a small smile.

“I really _should_ be happy, right Weiss?” Ruby pleaded again, and again Weiss only answered with a slow caress of her cheek.

They sat in quiet for a few minutes. Weiss continued to run her hand along Ruby’s cheek, moving to hold Ruby’s left hand with her free one. Every time she performed that motion, Weiss could feel Ruby gently squeeze her other hand. At first, all of this was marked by Ruby’s breath hitching now and again, as though she were holding back a veritable torrent behind her eyes. But this gave way to Ruby’s fully calming, settling if you will.

Once Ruby had, she only enjoyed her spot for a moment more before standing suddenly. Weiss made no move to stop her or pull her back, only watched Ruby cross the room to her desk. There she picked up a book—which Weiss saw to be ‘Blood of Elves’—before returning to the futon couch.

Ruby sat back down and curled up where she had been.

“I wanted to be a huntress. Did I ever tell you that?” Ruby opened up her book as she asked this.

“I think so.” Weiss answered.

“Did I tell you why I couldn’t?”

Weiss tilted her head and tried to remember. She drew a blank and said: “No, I don’t think you did.”

With letter grasped carefully in her left hand and book in her right, Ruby softly brushed Weiss’s hand from her face and sat up. She scooted around until she was comfy again—snuggled up to Weiss a bit—and placed the book on the table in front of them.

“Yang taught me that song—the one I sang earlier—when it happened.” Ruby fidgeted with the letter as she spoke. “We have different mothers. Mine died when I was really little, but Yang’s… Well, we don’t know what happened to her. Yang though, she thought she was out there somewhere. And you know how little kids can be, right?”

She looked at Weiss and the heiress nodded, though she truly had no idea how _most_ kids were. She herself had been quite afraid to do anything she wasn’t expressly told to, knowing either yelling, a swift slap, or both would greet her for it. But Weiss made no indication of this thought in her head, so Ruby assumed the nod to be a yes and went on.

“For a long time, she talked about trying to find her one day. Sometimes she’d be up all night, drawing out _plans_ ,” Ruby made air-quotes as she said the word, “and plotting her way to sneak out of the house. She even got Uncle Qrow to teach her a little about fighting when he dropped by for one of his extended visits. ‘ _Never too young to learn how to hunt_ ,’ he used to say…

“I think I was eight when it happened. I remember being very excited that night—cuz Dad had taken me to apply for Signal academy early, said I might get in as an exception—and it wasn’t hard for Yang to talk me into having a little adventure.”

“You know, that does sound a lot like you.” Weiss mused aloud, not quite meaning to voice herself.

Ruby smiled at this, and when Weiss realized she’d spoken aloud, she was quick to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

But instead of going on immediately, Ruby set the letter on her lap and leaned toward the table. She took her mug of tea—now cold as ice—and drank it down. Weiss watched this bemused, so Ruby picked up the other and held it out to her.

“It’s good even if it’s cold.”

At another time the heiress might have protested this. This night however, she was so far along on the high of exploring unfound experiences that she paid no heed to her predispositions. Weiss took the mug and sipped, finding the taste even sweeter than usual. She made a very audible hum of approval.

“Jasmine gets sweeter as it cools.” Ruby said, watching Weiss’s face light up with satisfaction.

“So, I see.” Weiss agreed before taking another sip. And _another_ after that.

With a very faint chuckle, Ruby sat her mug back on the table and snuggled close to Weiss again.

“That night, me and Yang stayed up after Dad tucked us in.” Ruby began after a deep sigh. “We talked about some of the cute boys at school and how awesome it would be to make our own weapons at Signal. Then, probably somewhere around midnight—we didn’t have a clock to look at—we got out of bed and packed some things as quietly as we could.

“Yang had a pair of training gauntlets Uncle Qrow had given her. I had an old, worn baseball bat. Between the two of us, we’d managed to squirrel away a few weeks’ worth of snacks from school and home, all of which we thought would hold us for a few days. Gosh, we were so _naïve_ to think tracking a person down would only take a few days…”

Ruby ended that statement with a sharp laugh, one full of regret and remorse.

“Anyway, once we had everything together and our play-clothes on, we grabbed a couple of flashlights. We snuck out through a window in the guestroom and jumped into a pile of leaves beneath the front awning. It was Fall and the pile was _huge_ , Weiss. It smelled so good and felt so soft.

“After we crawled out we went around back and got this little red wagon to put all our stuff in. Then we started off, into the woods and toward who-knows-where. That’s how we went for a while, maybe two hours, until it got _really_ dark. Like, darker than dark. Can you imagine that?”

She looked up at Weiss, who only looked back with a confused stare.

“Yeah, I guess not. Maybe it was just because we got far enough away from the city or something, but it _felt_ like that.” Ruby sighed again and shifted. “Yang acted brave but I’m sure she was terrified. We both had dreams of being huntresses, but at that moment we were just a couple of little girls in the woods at night, slowly realizing we were lost and scared and _very_ sorry for trying this harebrained scheme in the first place.

“We went on for maybe another hour before Yang finally lost her nerve. By that point, I was ready to sit down and cry—I’m not gonna try and sound tough—so you can imagine how cool Yang looked to me, staying so calm and brave.

“She turned to me and said, ‘ _Maybe this is far enough.’_ Boy, I couldn’t nod my head fast enough. Too scared to even talk by that point. So, Yang turned us around to try and get back, only to realize she had _no idea_ where back was. And _that_ ’s when it all fell apart…”

 

Ψ

 

_Yang’s heart is beating in her throat. Her skin is clammy and cold, and the little girl beside her—little sister Ruby—is only barely keeping the loud wails of a frightened child at bay. Neither remains composed due to bravado or stalwartness, but instead because they know what Grimm are and how fearful cries attract them._

_Both these children want to be huntresses, and both of them have gone to great lengths to try and start that process early. Yang Xiao Long has already begun training with her Uncle, going on a year now. Ruby Rose has just started, but she’s shown enough promise to be taken to Signal for consideration as an early enrollee._

_Here though—deep in the wooded wilds of Patch, off the coast of Vale—none of that matters. Here they’re just a couple of frightened children, terribly lost and miserably cold._

_Yang puts a hand on her sister’s tiny shoulder. Ruby looks up at her, tears already peeking at the corners of her eyes, and Yang says, “It’s going to be ok, Rubes.”_

_Ruby smiles, but it’s crooked and forced._

_With a very deep, very forcedly brave breath, Yang slips her hand down to grab Ruby’s. She starts walking in the direction she thinks is home. Of course, on this moonless night in the middle of the woods, all directions look the same. What’s worse, the wind is cold and coming along in constant gusts. It rustles leaves every which way, and combined with the racket of their little wagon, it’s all miserably loud._

_Already there’s a bond forming between these two, one that will last even after the grave. Ruby is presently budding a reverence for her elder sister that will never be quenched, and Yang, for her part, is nurturing a protective instinct that will one day send her to the clearing at the end of the path. But for now, these emotions are only nascent—whispering things that serve to bond the sisters together. Thankfully so, too._

_They only go along a little way before a rustle catches Yang’s ear. She turns abruptly, almost dragging Ruby from her feet, and watches the dark._

_“Ruby,” she whispers, “get your flashlight and hand it to me.”_

_The little sister obeys without a thought. She turns to the wagon and feels around for her bag, then begins to rummage within. Touch is all she has to go on so it’s not a terribly fast process._

_“And get your bat.” Yang adds suddenly, just as Ruby finds the requested torch._

_Little Ruby hands the flashlight to her sister and turns back to find her bat. Thankfully, that one is attained much quicker._

_As Ruby shuffles up beside her sister, sloppily holding the bat at a sort of semi-ready stance, Yang flips the switch on the torch. The direction of the strange rustle is suddenly bright as daytime, and in the distance—perhaps twenty feet—Yang can see the shape of exactly what she’d hoped_ not _to see._

_When the light strikes it, it begins moving closer and growling. All seven feet of the Grimm is now visible for both these frightened girls. It is a Beowolf, and Yang’s heart damn near stops at the sight of it. Poor little Ruby can’t help but to wet herself, faced with what can only be described as a living nightmare._

_Yang tries to reach down for her training gauntlets—hanging loosely off either of her slender hips—but she’s nowhere near quick enough. The Beowolf roars mighty and fearsome, charging not a moment after. The little blonde is directly in its path and has no time to move on her own. It is only a miracle—one leaving rose petals in its wake—that stops Yang from being bisected by the Grimm._

_She flies through the air and lands hard on a nearby tree. The Beowolf misses, instead managing to slam itself into the girls’ wagon. As Yang tries to sit up, perhaps intending to flee with her sister, she feels a very heavy lump across her legs and looks down. There Ruby lays, motionless and breathing most shallow._

_“Ruby!” Yang cries out, now going numb at the extremities. “Ruby! Ruby! Move! Get up!!”_

_Yang shakes her sister but gets no response. She looks up, sees the Grimm approaching slowly and confident, lit from the underside by the dropped flashlight. And in that moment, it all goes blank for the little blonde who will one day face down a creature claiming to be Death himself._

_Just before memory fails her, Yang hears a voice gently whispering in her ear. It is caring and it is warm, reminding her very much of her father._

**_“Not here; Not yet.”_ **

 

Ђ

 

When Ruby stopped for a breath the hour had just reached nine in the evening. Weiss was absolutely entranced with the story. Neither knew how exactly, but as Ruby told her version of it (as she recalled it, that is), they almost seemed to share a hallucination. Like both were taken back to those dark woods, shivering cold along with the two little girls looking for the older sister’s mother. What’s more, both nearly also had the sensation of seeing it through Yang’s eyes.

And yet, no sooner than Ruby stopped for breath, the feeling left them both entirely.

“How did you get away from it?” Weiss asked. She took a sip of her tea—finishing it—and set the mug on the table.

“We didn’t.” Ruby answered, frank and even. “I came to a while after, I’m not sure how long really. Yang was slapping me and shaking me hard. I think I scared her even more when I came out of it, cuz all I can remember about waking up is screaming in pain.”

Ruby reached down to rub her right leg without realizing it.

“Once the fright wore off, Yang started crying and hugging me—which made it hurt even worse—and didn’t _stop crying_ for a good while. I’d say ten minutes, if I had to guess. But when she finally stopped, the first thing she did was tear open the leg of my pants to see what was wrong with me. Uncle Qrow and Dad both taught us a little bit of first aid and I’m pretty sure Yang was flying on autopilot.

“I guess what she saw was pretty bad. She wouldn’t let me look. It didn’t really matter though; I wasn’t thinking about much of anything besides how bad it all hurt.”

“Did you break your leg?” Weiss pressed. More of concern than anything, as one may feel when hearing a truly terrible tale, but there was curiosity in there as well.

“A couple days after Dad found us, I found out it was a torn ligament, one that would never fully heal right.”

Weiss leaned in a little and hugged Ruby.

“How in blazes have you been dancing then? Or _walking_ , for that matter?”

“I push through the pain until I can’t anymore.” Ruby answered flatly, returning the hug. “That’s the only way to do things, isn’t it? Not dead, can’t quit, right?”

The heiress’s heart was swelling with pride for Ruby, yet also breaking for sorrow. How could she ever have thought ill of such a strong person? Oh, the shame of it was as lead on Weiss’s shoulders…

“But yeah, Yang was pretty upset and shaken.” Ruby said, picking up her tale again. “She just sat there with me in her lap for a while. Gosh, it seemed like that night would never end…

“Eventually, she started humming this funny little tune. It was calm _and_ invigorating, if you can imagine that. She hummed for a little while before starting to sing. That’s when she taught me what I sang earlier. Yang knew her mom, you see, and her mom taught her that song before vanishing.”

Ruby took another deep breath, one that seemed to shake her whole form. At some point during her tale, she’d come to lay on Weiss’s lap again. Now she sat up and turned, leaned over to take the letter from the table.

“Me and Yang, we sang that song to each other until sunrise. I think that’s what kept us together, kept us from falling apart until Dad found us, you know?” She rubbed the edges of the letter, failing to stop a single tear from staining the already dirtied paper. “Thanks for letting me get that off my chest, Weiss. I really needed this…”

For a moment, Weiss considered saying something. No real idea what, just _anything_ to try and add to the talk. When nothing came to mind, the heiress settled for action instead.

Carefully, slowly, tenderly, Weiss reached for the letter in Ruby’s hands. Two fingers and a thumb grasped it when Ruby stiffened, almost yanking it away. Weiss waited, motionless, and Ruby eventually relaxed. Once she had, Weiss gripped the letter a little tighter and slipped it slowly from Ruby’s fingers.

The heiress only looked at first, unsure what she intended to do—if she intended to do _anything_ at all.

“Open it.” Ruby said. The tone of her voice was so grave, it almost didn’t sound like her.

“Are you sure?” Weiss was earnestly worried. “You don’t have to do this tonight if you don’t want to, Ruby. I’ll come over again when you’re ready. Anytime, just tell me…”

Weiss might have gone on if not for Ruby’s firm grasp on her wrist. They met gazes and Weiss was quickly floored by the look of resolve in Ruby’s eyes. So very silver, yet blazing so much like the sun.

“Open it.”

This time, Ruby didn’t wait for the heiress to protest or acquiesce. She took hold of the end of the envelope with her thumb and pointer. Weiss understood and joined her other hand over Ruby’s. Together they opened the letter with a nearly fearful motion.

After ripping the end off of it, Weiss turned the envelope and let a terribly yellow piece of parchment slip out into Ruby’s hand.

 

Ψ

 

_Rubes,_

_How’s it going?_

_We’re in Mistral now, me and my partner. You’ve met her. Blake? With the adorable kitty ears under that silly bow? I know she scared you a little bit but she’s really nice once you get to know her. Like, **really** nice. Sweet and kind and just a very good friend._

_Heh, guess I’m not gonna keep the secret. Don’t tell Dad yet, I still want that, but we’re dating! Isn’t that neat?_

_Oh! I got you something too! Before coming to Mistral, me and Blake had to stop at this amazing place called Constance—you know, that giant city built around that Schnee school—and I saw the most amazing things there. We were signing up with this outfit called ColdWater. It’s some hoity-toity group of hunters that dates back to before the war._

_Anyway, I got you this cape and a broach. I’m not sure why I’m telling you here—I mean, I could just tell you when I see you—but, I guess it’s just in case. I’m sure it’ll be nothing, but, well, we signed up with ColdWater cuz we’re on a really important assignment. It’s not Grimm this time, see. We’re after some nutter that’s going around killing folks. Guess he’s pretty bad if they’re contracting hunters to go after him._

_I guess that’s why I’m writing this, just in case something happens. I’m sure it won’t—your big sis is too tough for one little baddie—but safe is better than sorry. So, yeah…_

_I love you, Ruby. I know you got screwed over pretty bad because of me. We were kids, but I still got you hurt and smashed your dreams. You might not hold it against me cuz you’re just that awesome, but I’m not letting it go. I’ll be the best damn huntress there ever was! Not for me but for you._

_I’m working really hard on that. I also got a little something else waiting for you, to help with that new dream of yours. You do still want to be a therapist, right? Like, the talk-out-your-problems kind of doctor? I really hope so cuz I think I found just the thing for you._

_Ah, this letter’s getting too long! Sorry kiddo but I’m gonna have to end it here. I’ll see you when this hunt’s over and we’ll go grab some ice cream, then check out Patch’s Pocket. I’ll even have a good bonus for us to blow on some awesome books! So stay safe and keep your chin up and nose to the grinding wheel while I’m gone. Got me?_

_I love you, sis. Don’t ever forget that._

_-Sunshine_

 

Ђ

 

Weiss ended up being the one to read the letter. Demon’s Souls was still howling its odd sort of ambience in the background, providing a morbidly fitting bit of white noise. No more sunlight came through any of the windows by now. Weiss had choked up a few times while reading and ended up taking almost thirty minutes to finish, nothing more than the flashing tele to light the paper.

Surprisingly though, Ruby seemed unfazed for a while after Weiss finished. Oh, the heiress was certainly shedding some quiet tears, but Ruby looked to be holding it well for herself. This was a front however, a farce if you will. Inside she was a wreck.

And yet, in a way this was like raw iron being thrown into the crucible. Ruby was indeed torn up by this, but there was a sort of closure to it as well—embers to begin smelting the pieces of her back into a solid billet. Something that could be worked back into a functioning, healthy person once more.

“Jeez, she always wrote like she was talking to you…” Ruby muttered, more to herself than anything.

At first, Weiss had no words, only another impulse to hug Ruby which she did not deny in the slightest. During that hug though, words did indeed come to her.

“Yang would be _so very_ proud of you…” Weiss whispered.

And at that, Ruby lost it. Nothing could have held back what came spilling forth from her. All the emotion withheld, all the hurt kept back with the fire of perseverance. She’d done an admirable job, none could gainsay, but with Weiss’s sweet words—placed perfectly as they were—there was no recourse but to submit.

Ruby leaned her into Weiss’s arm—holding her from behind—and started bawling, hard and violent. This degraded into wailing screams before long, but those lasted only a few minutes at most. It all came roundabout to body-shaking sobs as Ruby excised the pent-up vitriol, Weiss stroking her hair the entire time.

It went on this way until around eleven. By then, Ruby simply had no tears left to shed, but she was by no means out of the woods. And so, Weiss decided to press herself one last mote before the day could end.

The heiress summoned all her strength—which was not much by then, we say sorry—and lifted Ruby. One arm under her legs and the other cradling her shoulders. Ruby might have protested if there was any gumption left in her to do so, but lacking that she could only allow herself to be carried like a princess. Weiss did this, spiriting her to the bed where she laid her down.

Weiss then turned away to return to the futon couch. She was stopped however, upon feeling a tug at her sleeve. She turned around.

“Please don’t go.” Ruby pleaded, voice torn and hoarse.

Weiss smiled gently. “Of course not, you dolt.”

Ruby released Weiss’s sleeve and watched her fetch her bag. From it, Weiss took out a stuffed whippoorwill, so tiny it was almost lost in her hand. She came back and rested herself beside Ruby, inching close enough to wrap an arm around her. Then, as one last thought, Weiss sat back up and looked around.

“On the desk.” Ruby managed to croak. By the sound of it, she likely wouldn’t have any voice at all on the morrow.

But Weiss heard and looked to the desk. There the teddy sat, watching the two with its beady black eyes. Were they sad, too? Oh, it almost looked so, say true.

The heiress stood and quickly went to grab the teddy, then came back and resumed her place beside Ruby. She handed the stuffy over and put her arm back around her love. Thus they settled for the night, both giving into the exhausted sleep that visits the emotionally drained.

Good dreams found them both.


	3. Little Talks

Chapter 2

Little Talks

 

Ͼ

 

It was a little after four in the morning. Sleep had found the heiress for some few hours (about three if counting), and while it had been good and restful, it had not lasted. No, for she awoke to a dark room whose ceiling she did not recognize and in which the only sound to be heard was an antique alarm clock ticking away in one corner. Until Ruby Rose—that lovable oaf—snored quietly into her ear.

Weiss looked over. Even in the dark she could make out the faint contours of her friend’s face. Lids shut tight and eyes rolling lazily beneath, lips parted ever so slightly and soft snores escaping. A picturesque study in peaceful slumber if ever she’d seen such.

Gently so as not to wake her, the heiress cupped one hand over Ruby’s cheek. It was incredibly warm and pulsed with life beneath her touch. Humanity rested under that caress, deep in a portion of the heiress’ heart she had forgotten of until only recently. And oh, how it felt so _keen_. Then, without much thinking, Weiss moved that hand up and brushed the errant locks from Ruby’s forehead. One simple, innocent kiss she planted there…

Then she leaned her own forehead close enough to touch and shut her eyes, hoping for maybe another hour of sleep.

 

Ђ

 

Six o’ the clock rolled around in its own good time. About fifteen minutes later, Ruby’s antique clock—which was quite on its last leg, being nigh unto a hundred years old—decided it was finally time to do its duty. The thing rang loud and piercing, rousing both women from their cozy slumber.

The heiress was groggy and dull, having not had her requisite minimum of seven hours. Also due to the subject matter of her dreams. Oh, they fled almost the moment her icy-blue eyes fluttered open, yet the image of a field was burned into her mind quite well. Lilies and monkshoods with a beautiful door sitting in the midst of them. No hinges and no frame.

Ruby however, she awoke feeling as though she’d been tenderized by a runaway truck of some sort. Perhaps an ice-cream caddy? Whatever one might venture, she felt stiff and sore. Crying through one’s first hour of sleep will do such things even if the sleep itself is rejuvenating. Strangely though, her mind felt truly rested and recharged. She too had had dreams you see, and they were quite pleasant despite going mostly unremembered. A final image did stick though…

Of a man clad in an ivory-white robe, glowing as ten-thousand suns and whispering words of great comfort.

But beyond their funny waking, little else about that morning was strange. They roused themselves and chatted a bit, blushing here and there as they thought of this, that, and the other. A simple breakfast was made—by Weiss, strangely enough—consisting of a microwavable pastry and a banana for each of them. These were consumed amidst more small talk. After that, a shower for each, and after that also, they dressed and left.

Quite an unremarkable morning, all things considered.

 

Ђ

 

They managed to catch the last train to the MTU that would see them there in time. And though they rode in silence for the most part, once or twice they goofed about. Not much and not for long, but enough so to elicit laughter from Ruby and earnest smiles from Weiss. Call it cliché or call it droll, but love was indeed blossoming in the verdant soil of their hearts.

Once deep friendship, now a relationship spoken and committed to. Hallelujah? Hosanna?

But when they arrived to the school—whose cold, grey stone façade bade strong feelings of entrapment—an even murkier air hung about than the norm. Thankfully, they managed to slip by, an aura of good kinship between them, without that grey mire taking hold.

Two people watched them from a balcony, beneath the gathering storm clouds overhead. Icy-blue eyes and emerald-green…

 

Ͼ

 

When Weiss took her seat—Ruby shuffling in beside her, still giggling about something to do with _‘getting good’_ as she put it—Winter was nowhere to be seen.

The classroom was abustle though. Only half the students were left from what she’d seen the last Spring, at the start of the year. Exams and strict grading procedures used to determine one’s worth were indeed nothing to be sneezed at, as the culled student body clearly attested to. Looking to her right—and seeing Ruby’s distracted gaze pointed to the empty lectern at the room’s front—Weiss found herself grateful.

For one thing, that her friend (girl?) had made it through; for another, that her time and effort had played some small part in that. This thought was fulfilling in a way.

Now aside from the heiress’ thoughts on the silver-eyed maiden gazing into the ether, not much else preoccupied the typically calculating mind of Weiss Schnee today. Sure, she was a wee curious why her elder sister had yet to show for class. She also wondered a bit why everyone seemed so bustling and busy despite this being the last week of their first year. It was almost done now, so why did it feel like something more yet lay on the horizon?

Aside from the next year of course, but judging by the bits of hushed conversation she caught, Weiss assumed that was not the subject of her fellow students’ talks…

 

Ω

 

“You’re late for class, Miss Schnee.”

Winter looked over, leveled a truly horrid glare on the man beside her. Well, she had to look _up_ to mete that glare, but this little fact did nothing to assuage its effect. No sir, never think it; Winter Schnee had icy eyes that could kill at a glance, say true.

But Levi Ansleif, standing at least a foot over Winter’s head, showed no sign of fear from that gaze. Rather he looked unabashedly full of himself, as though only he were privy to some grand inside joke. A tidbit of delicious gossip mayhap, or a juicy morsel of insider info. In his wide grin were unreasonably straight teeth, perfect in a manner that seemed inhuman. In his emerald-green eyes, clear conceit and no small helping of disdain for the Schnee beside him.

“You may be my father’s personal lackey,” said Winter, “but I’ll take no sass from you, Mister Ansleif. Do keep that in mind, won’t you?”

Without awaiting a reply, she turned and left the balcony for her office. This took her through an archway concealed by one of the bookcases flanking the fireplace within, presently opened up and turned aside. Levi followed her, bending his head down and grasping the top of his hat. He looked like an old gunslinger from Vacuo, back in the early days. Minus any gun.

“Prithee, forgive mine errant tongue,” he said. “I hath accosted the Lady Schnee, and for such am woeful sorry. Can ye pardon mine transgression, Ma’am?”

As though the sarcasm in his tone weren’t enough, the snickering Levi followed this with nearly had Winter drawing her blade. Rarely was she known to so lose herself, but this strange fellow always seemed to have a knack for ruffling her feathers. Why had Jacques ever hired him in the first place? Furthermore, why was _she_ stuck dealing with him?

“Do you have the papers I requested or not?” she asked, exasperated and wanting rid of the buffoon.

“Of course! Think nothing other, won’t you?” He howled a laugh, startling Winter. “Come, come, let us to thy desk retire, there to sign and pass decree on paper, with quill and fine ink!”

By Dust and all the gods, Winter was far beyond done with him. But if she was to play her part in aiding her sister’s ascendance—for Weiss’s was not the only heart set on righting the Schnee name—then she would yet have to bite her tongue. There was also another matter to contend with, one that, since seeing it at the funeral, had yet to enter her mind without bringing acid up from her stomach…

“Here they are,” said Levi, producing a manila envelope from his duster.

Why he’d worn such a thing in this weather was at first beyond her, but once the clouds outside began to gather, Winter thought she should’ve worn something similar. Neither here nor there though, that.

She took the envelope, shot Levi another hateful glare and opened it. Inside were nine sheaves, each at least ten pages thick. Winter removed the first and began to read over it. Indeed, it was exactly as she’d requested. And furthermore, the oaf Levi (for once in a while) had not played some fool’s game with her. There were nine copies of the Request for Transfer document, nicely bound and unmarred by their trip in his coat.

“Spiffing good job,” Winter said to him, an air of haughty disbelief in her voice. “I’m actually a bit surprised you managed. Now then, if there’s nothing else you need, you are welcome to _leave_ whenever you see fit.”

Winter rounded her desk and sat down, then shot Levi one last scornful glower. He did not seem to take the hint, or perhaps he was merely trying to push her buttons further. There was some ulterior motive to this man, Winter felt…

“Anytime you please,” She said again. “Such as _now_ , perhaps?”

And with that, it looked as though a fire lit behind Levi’s emerald eyes. He removed his hat—revealing a sprawling length of charcoal-black hair—and gave a sweeping bow. Right heel planted with toes pointing up, left foot cocked out to the side, right hand pressing hat to chest, and left arm swung out wide. Then he straightened up, put his hat back in place, and left without another word.

Winter resumed reading over the documents when (probably halfway down the hall by then) the raucous echo of Levi’s laughter pierced her door and startled the daylights out of her.

“Imbecile,” she muttered, trying to find her place again.

 

Ђ

 

It was nine o’ the clock by now and still no sign of Winter. Weiss was visibly seething—partly embarrassment and partly flat out anger—but with a playful poke from Ruby followed by a disarming grin, most of that went away. Gone, poof, abracadabra.

“Jeez, Ruby…” she sighed. “Nothing fazes you short of the world falling apart, does it?”

“Nope,” chirped Ruby in return.

And indeed, it seemed the last night had had much the desired effect. If the contents of that letter—or yea, the very death of her sister—still hung over Ruby, it did not show. Much unbeknownst to the heiress in fact, it was that very letter that had improved her friend’s ( _girl?_ ) mood so drastically.

Still though…

“Gracious, _where is she_?!” Weiss turned back to look at the empty lectern. Then the desk left of it.

“I don’t think I’ve seen your sister late once,” Ruby commented absently.

“It’s very unlike her,” Weiss agreed.

“Is it that worrying though?”

The heiress looked at her friend ( ** _girl?_** ) again. No disarming, charming grin this time. She too looked a wee concerned.

Off at the front—just barely audible to Weiss’s keen hearing—no less than twelve classmates were discussing the absent Winter Schnee. One even had the gall to crack a joke about it, undoubtedly made brave by the subject’s absence. Weiss barely held herself from chucking something at him, be that an eraser or pencil or even a small book of some sort. Now _that_ wouldn’t do; no, not at all.

“It’s concerning precisely because it’s so unlike her,” Weiss answered at last. “If she’s this late, she’s either dead or dealing with something of grave importance. I just hope that something doesn’t involve _me_ …”

Presage comes in the funniest packages sometimes. Ruby though, she only heard the passing jest of Winter perhaps having expired. This stuck a thorn in her mood quite immediately.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she said.

“About what?” Weiss tilted her head, clearly confused. Then, when it dawned on her: “Oh, Winter being dead?”

Ruby nodded.

“You know I didn’t mean anything by that, right? It’s just, I can’t think of much else that might keep her from her obligations.”

“Yeah.” Ruby sighed. “It’s best not to tempt fate though.”

The heiress opened her mouth to respond, but found herself stopped.

At the front of the room, quite loud and quite sudden, the door flung open and in walked Winter. By the look of her, she’d been on that punching bag in her office again—that, or perhaps something more _amatory_. Flyaways hung loose from her usually maintained ponytail and her face was a reddened, vaguely sweaty mess. Her breathing looked a bit strained as well.

“Listen up class,” Winter boomed. “This may be your last week of the year, but I’m not going to tolerate any laziness. We’ve got papers to fill out and announcements to deal with, so buckle down and concentrate.”

She looked about the class, and when one young man huffed at her statement—the same chap Weiss had heard making the earlier joke—Winter just about went ballistic.

“You there.” She pointed at him and he cocked one eyebrow. “Lucius, wasn’t it?”

“Yes Ma’am,” answered he.

“Stand and approach the lectern, young man.”

Poor Lucius did as he was told. With every step one could see the false bravado escape him, as sails deflating in a doldrum. When he finally came to stand before Winter’s lectern, one could see an ever so slight shake to him.

“Hand these out,” Winter commanded. She pushed a modest pile of paper to him.

Lucius took them and did so.

“Now then.” She cleared her throat. “This week isn’t to be _all_ tedium and monotony. As you will see in those pamphlets, there is in fact a celebration being had for all of you.”

Lucius eventually made his way to Weiss and Ruby, far at the back, and handed each one of the pamphlets. To Ruby he gave also a smile, but to Weiss he gave an almost jealous glare. She met his glare with her own cold gaze and the man went on, handing out the last few and keeping one for himself.

Weiss set to reading the pamphlet and Winter went on.

“I won’t waste any time and simply call it what it is.” For a moment she stopped, looking almost embarrassed. “The MTU will be hosting a First Year’s End Dance,” she said at last.

Lucius, finished with his task, took his seat as inconspicuously as he could.

“Young man,” Winter said, “did I tell you your task was done?”

With a grimace, Lucius stood again. He approached the lectern once more, all but shuffling this time.

“Let me have your flier,” she said, and he handed it over. “Good, now you may return to your room and pack your things. As of this moment you are expelled.”

A hush fell across the room, thick as midnight fog over a harbor. Weiss thought her heart would stop; Ruby felt her jaw would drop off her face.

“Excuse me?” Lucius said, flabbergasted.

“Your idiocy is excused,” answered Winter, “and now, you may leave as I said and prepare to go home. You’re done here.”

All the color left the poor man’s face, but he seemed to have better sense than to argue with her. Rather, he returned to his seat and collected his things, then left the classroom without further fuss. Winter was sure she’d be hearing from both his father and her own—Lucius was the son of one of the company’s bigger shareholders, after all—but for the moment she didn’t care. Perhaps her expulsion would be overturned ere the month was out.

But still, she didn’t care.

“Now then,” Winter resumed, addressing the whole class once more. “About that dance: It is white-tie and attendance is voluntary. Though, I would _suggest_ you all do so, as there will be more than a few important faces there. Beyond that, all else you will need to know is in the flier.”

The hush among the students turned into a quiet, murmuring tumult. Smacking yet another stack of papers on her lectern, Winter silenced that too.

“Lastly, you have these to fill out.”

She left her lectern and began handing out the new stack in person. Starting at the front and working her way side to side, Winter eventually made her way entirely through the room. Except for her sister and Ruby, that is.

Weiss briefly considered drawing her sister’s attention and pointing out the oversight. After that display with Lucius though, she found herself hesitant. There was surely no way on Remnant she would receive the same treatment, but then again…

“Um, Miss Schnee?”

By every god and saint, that was Ruby’s voice, wasn’t it?

The heiress turned her gaze, slow and anxious and absolutely horrified, to see her friend’s hand jutting up in the air. Waving about too, as though she were still in primary school.

“ _This isn’t the time, you dolt!_ ” Weiss hissed, trying desperately to stay quiet. She even poked Ruby’s side in attempts to dissuade her.

“Yes, Miss Rose?”

But she was too late; Winter had deigned to hear Ruby out.

“We…” Ruby struggled a moment, then said, “You skipped over us with that last handout…”

Not wanting to but unable to stop herself, Weiss turned her gaze to the front of the classroom. Winter stood behind her lectern once more, but surprisingly looked as if nothing were amiss. She even had an almost friendly smile across her frazzled features.

“I will address that later, Miss Rose,” she said. “For now, let’s get through with the class, shall we? You and Weiss may see me afterward to discuss it then.”

And suddenly, every eye in the classroom rested on the two women sitting at the back. Weiss felt their (curious most, some ireful) stares, but Ruby seemed to pay them little enough mind. The raven-headed beauty merely sat down, quite relieved to have dodged Winter’s wrath. As for where that wrath stemmed from or why it was so uncontrolled, such musing was beyond her.

“You’ve got to think things through better,” Weiss chided.

“Dodged a bullet there,” Ruby mused, mostly to herself.

Weiss poked her again, garnering her full attention this time.

“That was a bullet you fired at yourself,” she said.

Up front, Winter Schnee was quite engrossed in her announcement regarding the papers she had just passed out. All eyes returned to her, listening intently, and left the two at the back from their focus. As for those two, their attention was on one another. Something Weiss would never have allowed herself to do before…

Which is to say, being distracted so in the middle of class.

 

Ͼ

 

Not much else of interest happened in the muster-class. Winter explained the subject matter of the second set of handouts, but she went mostly unheard by Weiss and Ruby. They spent that time at the back chatting in hushed voices with each other. First it was the near miss with the wroth Schnee up front, then it was simpler things that bore little significance to their academic concerns. Small talk if you will.

Winter noticed this—and seethed inside—but did nothing to curb or otherwise interrupt it. In some small part of her she was actually a bit relieved to see her sister had made such a close friend. In that same small part however, she was quite furious where that friendship had gone.

But let us not jump to conclusions about that, hm?

And so, another half hour passed. Ten o’ the clock rolled around and the unusually long muster-class finally ended.

A good number of students simply packed up and left, on to do whatever it was that needed doing to further their careers at the MTU. Some few stayed behind and picked the teacher’s brain for opinions and suggestions, mostly involving the advanced tracks they would be eligible for the coming year. Weiss might have been one of those doing exactly such, were it not for the silver-eyed maiden sitting beside her.

Much was changing and with frightening speed. Yet, this did not frighten her.

Winter Schnee though, she noticed. With her eyes on her questioning students and a good portion of her mind on answering those questions, she left her peripherals to watch her sister ( _and that other_ ) at the back of the classroom.

Eventually though, even the few that stayed behind to ask questions left. Weiss, Ruby and Winter ended up being the room’s sole occupants.

Ruby was in the middle of telling Weiss why she thought advanced math was useless to psychology when Winter spoke up.

“Miss Rose,” said she, “do you not appreciate the finer mental arts?”

Hearing her name, Ruby faced the front. It was then she noticed the emptiness of the room. She did not, however, fully hear her teacher’s question.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked.

“I said: Do you not appreciate the finer mental arts?”

Winter stood from her desk and walked to where her sister and Ruby sat. She pulled a chair out from the row in front of them, turned it around and seated herself.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Ruby said, rather bashfully.

The elder Schnee sighed, then said, “Math in all its forms is an art, Miss Rose. We use it to express our understanding of existence in a quantifiable manner. Whereas the _artist_ may paint a picture to express her understanding of the world, I would create a formula to tell you exactly why—for example—your attendance and success here is such an unlikely scenario…”

She finished her statement with a very serpentine, venomous thinning of the eyes. A look that said, in no uncertain terms, ‘ _I hope you are catching my drift._ ’

And for a miracle, Ruby certainly seemed to.

“It amazes me too,” she said. “But I really can’t take much credit for it.” She looked to Weiss. “If it weren’t for your sister, I’d have flunked out in the first semester.”

Despite her foul mood and countenance, Winter could hardly keep back a smile at that. It was wan and thin, but a smile is a smile.

“I had planned to see you both, one at a time, in my office,” Winter said. “I suppose this will do though, if the two of you don’t mind the less… private atmosphere.”

Weiss looked about.

“No one’s here but us,” she said.

To that, the older Schnee pointed up. The heiress followed and saw the black orb jutting a few inches from the ceiling. Perhaps it had never occurred to her to look, but it was no surprise at all to see the thing. CCTV was likely the least of the security measures employed at such a prestigious academy after all.

“There’s audio recording as well,” Winter said. “All over the place. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to rid my office of it.”

She cast her gaze to Ruby and said, “I have academic matters to discuss with the both of you. There is, however, something more _personal_ I would speak of as well. Whether we do that here or there, I leave up to the two of you.”

Ruby clearly had no inkling what she was on about. Weiss sported a deer-in-the-headlights stare and suddenly reddened face, however. The heiress knew, oh say true.

“We’ve no problem taking a little walk,” Weiss said. She turned to Ruby. “Right?”

A nod was her response.

“Very well then,” said Winter. “I’ll go on ahead. Why don’t the two of you grab something to drink on your way? I’ve a feeling there’s much talking to do.”

“Palaver?” suggested Ruby.

Both Schnees gave her quite the funny look. At first, neither recognized the word. After a moment, though…

“A fan of King as well?” asked Winter.

Ruby nodded.

“This isn’t some Vacuan spaghetti-western,” said Weiss.

“It’s a good word, though,” Ruby said, looking away and twiddling her thumbs.

Winter stood and returned the chair she’d been using. She made to say something as well when a sudden observation caught her attention.

Was she grinning? Hell, was she on the verge of _laughing_?

Judging by the tightness at the corners of her mouth and the tickle in her bosom, it certainly seemed so. Unfortunately, describing the feeling of surprise this gave her is beyond the lexicon of this storyteller.

“Fetch whatever drinks you like and head to my office,” said Winter. “Weiss can show you the way.”

And without another word, the elder Schnee left. Her footsteps were hurried and harsh on the marble floor, echoing loud in the now silent classroom. Both women watched her go. Neither thought much about her odd gait as she went.

“Café?” offered Ruby.

“I believe so,” answered Weiss.

Thus, they went.

 

ϴ

 

Perhaps it was true, that ages-old adage. A time for peace and a time for war; a time for plain-speaking and a time for the backwards tongue.

Winter mused on that as she walked down the long hall, heels clicking loud and hollow all the way. The bronze sconces cast her shadow playful, making it look to dance and jig. It grew long behind her then came suddenly forward, bouncing and bobbing until it petered out at her feet and fell behind once again.

But her mind was not on that playful shade, skipping and jiving in a contorted reflection of its master. No, for Winter Schnee’s thoughts were on something else. Something soft and whispered, and during the best of circumstances only partially grasped in understanding. Most of the foul mood left to her by Levi had now departed. To the point she almost regretted the expulsion of Lucius, the poor daft sod. _Almost_ , but not quite as she was sure it would be overturned.

Now though—approaching her office in absent thought—the elder Schnee found herself in deep recollection that bordered on a daydream. In that recollection, a man’s steel-grey eyes burned, his stubbly face grinning ear-to-ear from across a barroom booth. The smell of whiskey and hops hung on the air of that memory, tinted slightly with the acrid aroma of cigarettes and crowded with the cacophony of a popping scene.

“I wasn’t enough for you though,” she whispered to herself, the door to her office only some few yards away. “Not enough to forget your ghosts…”

She reached the door and opened it, stepped in and shut it behind her without a thought. Before crossing the room and seating herself at her desk however, she cast a glance to the punching bag now knocked into the corner.

It was ripped open at the seams and spilling out most of its stuffing. A testament to her martial prowess if one needed any. Even the chain up top had popped a few of its welds, almost every other link now gaping open and threatening to drop its burden if stressed further. At the top though, there still sat a photo taped to the leather. One of a man, his steel-grey eyes glaring intently at the photographer.

It had not been she.

Acting on an impulse for one of the few times in her life, Winter approached the bag. She reached out one finger to the photo, touched it briefly and withdrew. Then she reached out once more and snatched it off, pocketing the thing with nary a consideration why.

Winter Schnee went to her desk after that. To sit down, pour herself a drink from her private decanter, and think her thoughts whilst staring at the stained-glass window behind her desk.

 

Ђ

 

They went to the café, Ruby and Weiss. Arrived in good time too. Just well enough to catch the dissipating crowd of post-muster, who had all ordered their poisons and either finished or taken them along. Only some few remained when they entered the small establishment; maybe seven if counting. Barring, that is, any utilizing the lavatory and therefore hidden from sight.

At the front counter a barista was busy mixing together a few mocha-what’s-its and cappu-do-dads. No one was in line though (meaning these were likely for the remaining customers), so Weiss went up to place an order. Ruby made to follow her at first, but stopped on hearing a chime from her scroll.

She fished the device from her pocket and flipped it open.

“Good morning, Ma’am,” said the barista. Her nametag read Marissa.

“Hello, Marissa,” Weiss answered in kind.

A brief flash of surprise crossed the barista’s face. Of course she knew who Weiss was—in this place, few didn’t—but she was caught quite off guard to be recognized by a _Schnee_ of all people. In her surprise though, she did forget the nametag just over her left breast.

“Uhm…” Marissa muttered, stunned. “M- May I take your order, Miss Schnee?”

Weiss smiled, said, “Two Atlesian, please. One black and one with sugar and cream.”

That smile threw her off a little more, but poor Marissa managed to retain her wits. She entered the order into the register.

“I’ll bring the bill with the drinks, Ma’am,” she said. “Please, go on and make yourself comfortable.”

And with another smile—a thank-you-smile, so far as she could manage—the heiress did exactly that. It was only upon sitting at her now favorite spot by the window that she noticed Ruby, still by the door and ticking away at her scroll.

Weiss tilted her head curiously and watched. After a moment, Ruby finished whatever she was on about and pocketed the thing, then began looking around. The heiress waved her over.

“Sorry,” Ruby said, pulling out a seat and joining her friend (girl?).

“Anything important?” Weiss asked.

“Oh, just my boss.” Ruby removed her scroll again, flipped it open and read through her message log. “I sent him a mail yesterday. Guess he was too busy to respond right then, but he just got back to me.”

Ah yes, Weiss did recall that Ruby had not exactly been capable of working her job recently. Surprisingly enough though—despite being the key instigator of their present circumstances together—the heiress had thought little and less on the Siren’s Call of late. Now that it was back in her mind again, a powerful blush crept across her face at the memories concerning it.

“Will you still be…” Weiss halted mid-sentence, frazzled quite suddenly. “Do you plan to keep paying your way with that?”

Ruby looked up from her scroll, gave an earnest smile.

“Gotta do what’cha gotta do,” she said.

With that, Ruby went back to her message log. The heiress however, she fell into her own head for a bit. Wondering things, thinking things, and generally musing over her current affairs. An apartment—two bedrooms and a joint bathroom, fair sized kitchen and a veranda—briefly found its way into those musings. One of the ones she had turned down on coming here, when still considering which living arrangements to partake of.

Before, that is, her father’s own suggestion won out.

“I think I’ll have to meet with your sister another time,” Ruby said, pulling Weiss from her thoughts.

“Our _teacher_?”

Ruby looked up from her scroll and nodded.

“Unless it’s something I can’t miss,” she then added.

Weiss thought about that for a moment. As she did so, Marissa came to them, coffees in hand.

“Here you are, Miss Schnee,” she said, then sat the cups in reach of both. One was clearly marked _‘sugar,’_ the other marked _‘plain.’_

“Thank you,” Weiss said. She then handed Marissa a Lien bill and added: “The change is your tip.”

When the barista opened her mouth to offer thanks, Weiss held up a hand. She took the hint and left them, only looking at the bill upon returning to the counter. Her stomach nearly did a flip on seeing it was a hundred. For a tab of fifty, no less.

The heiress paid it no mind however, returning instead to Ruby without hesitation.

“She said she had something personal to discuss with us,” said Weiss. “I think it would be best you didn’t miss that.”

Ruby looked at Weiss for a moment, then to the coffees. She took the one marked sugar and popped the top off, blew on it a few times and tried a sip. Not too hot as it turned out, so she had a bit more.

“Weiss,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Is it too soon to say I trust you?”

The heiress, stunned, tilted her head again. Like a curious puppy.

“Not if I may say the same,” she answered at last.

Ruby had another sip, nodded to herself and entreated: “Then would you handle this for both of us?”

A brief silence passed. Weiss took her own coffee and tried it, momentarily recalling that strange man in Patch while the flavor caressed her palette. His name escaped her for the nonce, but the image of him might never. Still though, at least he hadn’t spoiled her taste for her favorite coffee as she had feared he might.

“Are we on the same page, as far as what this might involve?” Weiss asked, peering at Ruby over the lip of her cup.

“I can be airheaded, Weiss, but I think she’s caught onto something. Just keep in mind, if worse comes to worst…”

The heiress held up her free hand, palm out, and a grave expression Ruby hadn’t seen in some time came over her.

“I meant everything I said to you, Ruby Rose, and not a damn bit less. More even, if I think about it.”

“This could get really bad,” said Ruby.

The heiress nodded, said, “I’ll not be deterred.”

Ruby couldn’t help the smile that poked free. Heart aflutter and blood aflame, sudden and powerful, she could only let that wide grin shine through.

“I’ll deal with this,” Weiss went on. “You go see to what lies on _your_ plate.”

“Thank you,” Ruby answered. Then, on thinking about it, asked, “Wanna catch a movie at my place after?”

Weiss spared this question no thought, for it truly bore none.

“That sounds wonderful,” said she.

They held a little conversation from there, but nothing else of import was said between them. All in all, their sojourn to the café took some fifteen minutes. When they were done, the women went their separate ways; Weiss to her sister’s office, Ruby to answer to her own ghosts.

And off in the heart of Constance, grand University City of the Schnee Dust Company, a man sat on a train headed for the Olympus Heights Hotel. His mahogany-brown eyes—for which he’d been given his name—were closed and soft snores escaped his slack lips as he waited out the train’s journey.

 

Ͼ

 

The heiress ordered another coffee—and gave another unreasonably generous tip—before heading for her sister’s office. The trip there was dull and echoed loud in every sense of the phrase. Her footsteps and her worried thoughts, let us say. The coffee steamed and gave off its acrid aroma, tickling her nose every once in a while when it found her.

Those funny sconces flickered quite mesmerizingly, casting their playful light upon her and making the heiress’ shadow dance about. This went ignored though as Weiss’s thoughts were squarely on the _‘personal’_ bit of conversation Winter had hinted at. What had she found out? Furthermore, what did she plan to do about it?

As she went, Weiss’s attention was briefly pulled from that musing. She passed by the one door that stood out from the rest in the long hall, at the end of which her sister’s office sat.

The heiress stopped and turned to the door, feeling a powerful pull from it. She even walked right up to it this time. Close enough to admire the fine scrollwork of the brass placard just right of the door, identifying the room beyond as the _‘All-World Conference Room.’_

And in an instant of nigh-hypnosis, Weiss Schnee reached one shivering hand out for the crystal doorknob. Beneath this nob—carved with such detail and so tiny as to be inhumanly made—a motif almost seemed to glow. It was either a bullet or a tower, she couldn’t be sure which, and around it coiled a rose. The rose climbed up and around the tower/bullet, wilting and drooping down at the top so as to lay across the opposite side.

Then she came to, blinking a few times before withdrawing her hand. Strange that, she thought.

With a huff and a shrug, Weiss forgot the funny door and its funny motif beneath the knob. She went on down the hall, deciding she might come back on a less pressing occasion and have a looksee within to satiate her unbidden curiosity.

All the same though. The knob wouldn’t have moved so much as a millimeter.

 

Ђ

 

Ruby left the MTU in a bit of a hurry. Although, it wasn’t as if she was in any pressing rush. She did want the present conundrum sorted out. Yet, her fellow in the matter certainly wasn’t pressing the issue.

On her way, she continually read the message. Short and succinct, just as Mahogany had ever been since she’d met him.

‘ _Olympus Heights, and bring your appetite,_ ’ was all it read.

Once, then twice, and finally seven times upon reaching the concourse of the train station. Ruby read it again and again, not entirely sure why she did so. Perhaps it was because she felt dishonest for how she’d parted ways with the man. Or perhaps it was because, should he decide to fully let her go, she would be facing a very tough decision in the near future. Either way though, Ruby was fully aware that reading and rereading that message would help none of these matters.

Yet still she did, even as the train sped on toward the Olympus Heights on the other side of the city.

 

Ͼ

 

“You may enter,” Weiss heard echo from within.

It startled her a bit. She hadn’t even knocked on the door, only having just reached the end of the hall. Maybe Winter merely guessed her arrival?

Oh, but what did that even matter?

The heiress took a breath and righted herself, then opened the door and entered. The same office as she remembered greeted her. Warm and modestly lit, this time by only the fireplace and the rather powerful incandescents on Winter’s desk. It did seem less out of sorts this time. Except for the punching bag, which sat backed into the far corner to her right and looked ready to fall apart at a slight gust of wind.

“Come have a seat, won’t you Weiss?”

She looked over, to her sister’s desk sitting at the foot of the stained-glass window, and marveled briefly at the sight.

Winter Schnee looked as Weiss had never seen her before. Collar undone and hair let loose, hanging surely down to her stomach beneath the top of the desk. The woman was a picture of stressed relaxation. Which is to say, the state of one who has forced themselves to cut loose and be calm, despite clearly having the world on their shoulders.

And after that brief moment, Weiss did as she was asked. She crossed the room and seated herself in one of the simpler seats in front of the desk. Said not a word.

“Will Miss Rose not be joining us?” Winter asked.

Weiss only shook her head.

“I see.”

Winter reached beneath the desk and retrieved a crystal decanter. An amber liquid sloshed lazily within, its sweet smell filling the room the moment she removed the stopper.

“Grandfather’s favorite,” Weiss mused aloud.

“Indeed. Would you like some for your coffee?”

The younger Schnee hesitated, certainly considering the notion, before shaking her head no.

“More’s the pity,” said Winter, pouring her glass full again. “Well then, should we just have out with it?”

“What would _it_ be?” Weiss asked, one eyebrow rising.

Winter took a deep breath, released it slow and calm. She looked to be reciting some sort of soothing ritual in her mind. Lips moving oh so slightly and eyes slipping quietly shut. Then, a moment later, the elder Schnee resumed herself.

“It’s been a while since we met here,” Winter said.

“So it has,” Weiss agreed.

“I suppose it’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t be so torn up about it…”

The heiress thought about simply letting her go on. She decided not to, though. Best to have out with things.

“This is about Ruby and I, isn’t it?”

Weiss was tentative, nervous even, in her delivery. Her voice quavered and carried none of her usual bravado with it. But from her sister came a look most unexpected, of kind concern and worry. Always she’d thought Winter to be only another shadow from which she must remove herself, if ever to ascend the family.

What, then, was this?

“I know what your endgame is,” Winter said, apparently ignoring her sister’s question. “I also know why you’re so hellbent on claiming the company for yourself.”

Winter reached down below her desk once more. This time she withdrew a picture frame from one of the drawers and set it face down on the desk, just before Weiss. The younger Schnee took it, turned it over, and after only a moment of gazing upon it felt herself ready to toss either it or her breakfast.

“Father’s priorities never involved the wellbeing of his family.”

The heiress touched one of the figures in the picture as she said this. A young boy, perhaps no more than seven when the portrait was made. His features were fair as cherubim and his eyes the brightest blue one might imagine. Bombardier’s eyes one might say, though a shade or two lighter. And despite his undoubtedly young age, the lad’s hair was whiter than the freshest winter snow.

“He called on the best doctors, Weiss,” said Winter. “There was simply nothing to be done. Some diseases cannot be fought off…”

Weiss slammed the frame back on the desk, shattering the delicate glass.

“He could have at least _mourned_ Whitley!” she yelled.

And in another unexpected show of humanity, Winter reached out for her sister’s hand. Gently and calm, with familial love in her touch, she laid her hand over Weiss’s.

“You’re the heiress, Weiss,” said Winter. “There’s no one left now but you.”

In the suddenness of all this, Weiss had forgotten what she was there to discuss. Here was a memory confronting her which she had no interest in remembering. Oh, she had certainly mourned the boy’s passage. Yet she had no want to dwell on it. To that end, she had no inclination to _recall_ it at all.

“What is your point here, Winter?” Weiss asked, beginning to seethe on the inside.

Carefully, Winter slid the frame from under Weiss’s hand. She kept it pressed to the desk—scratching the mahogany terribly—so as not to leave bits of glass behind. Furniture could be repaired or replaced; wounded flesh was much harder to mend, as she well knew.

“At the funeral,” Winter began, “I saw you and Miss Rose. I followed the two of you—worried, mind you—into the woods. On the cliff… I saw…”

Now, the heiress had expected this. In quite a few ways. Premonition or presage one might say, but also the hard reality that very little escaped the knowing reaches of her family. Yet still, finally confronting it brought acidic fire to Weiss’s belly. A sudden and violent want to vomit, followed quickly by a pining for anything with ethanol as its primary constituent.

“How much did you see?” Weiss managed to choke out.

“More than enough,” Winter answered.

“And who have you spoken to of this?”

Whilst awaiting the answer, Weiss suddenly recalled the odd man from Patch. With his garish getup and his conflagrating mannerisms, Levi popped back into her mind’s eye. As too did his words to her…

_Isn’t it disgusting when people **pretend** they know what’s what?_

Yes, those had been his words. Now here they were once again, dancing through Weiss’s mind to haunt her as they had then. Did that spook have something to do with her father, perhaps? Or with Winter? Did he know too?

“I said what I meant…” Weiss muttered to herself, shaking the memory from her mind. She’d not heard Winter’s answer.

“What?” Winter asked.

Weiss looked up from her cup of coffee. Though she’d been fraying a bit at first, she now found herself calmer. The gaze she gave her elder sister was collected and willful—the old Weiss Schnee, repurposed if you will.

“I won’t be rude and I won’t be deceitful,” said Weiss, “so if you’d do me the same, I would speak plainly about this. Will you do that, sister?”

Winter smiled. She could hardly help to do otherwise. Not just for Weiss’s statement, oh no, but for the sincerity she heard in her voice. _Sister_ , eh? Perhaps there was something salvageable there after all.

“That sounds just fine,” Winter answered. “Then let me be frank: I’d like to know what’s between you and Miss Rose.”

The heiress took a deep breath and released an equally deep sigh.

“I suppose you could say we’re dating,” said Weiss, very matter-of-factly.

“I was afraid of that,” responded Winter. “In the interest of openness then, let me tell you I’ve neither called you hear to accuse nor to judge. I have asked you here—and it really is a shame Miss Rose cannot join us—to warn you, more than anything.

“You’re the heiress, Weiss; you are all that’s left of the family to head the company once father retires or steps down. But as I’m sure you know, that is in no way a guarantee. Your place is not promised and is most certainly not provided without measure or condition.”

The heiress adjusted in her seat, taking a more relaxed position. She surely wasn’t relaxed—far from it even—but worried this might be a longer conversation than she’d expected. Then again, what _had_ she expected? To simply confront her elder sister and have some sort of powwow about it all? Some revelatory monologue that would be the last word on the matter?

“Please, Winter,” Weiss began, “just let me know what you want to hear. What is it you want so this can be done with?”

“Like I told you, Weiss: I’ve only summoned you here to warn you.”

“And do you think these things are not concerns I’ve already confronted?”

Weiss looked to puff up a bit as she asked this. Winter, in turn, only sighed and took another sip of her liquor. Vacuan Amber, ole Granddaddy Schnee’s favorite…

“I’m sure you have,” the elder Schnee admitted, “but won’t you humor me, at least? I had wanted to save this conversation for your graduation, but considering present developments I feel it cannot be put off. May I not have that bit, at least?”

And now, the heiress had to force herself to take a long look at the woman across the desk. Hair down and collar undone, coat removed and draped across the back of her posh chair. Now that she was looking, Weiss also noted the saber and pistol lying on the ground behind and left of the desk, discarded as if entirely unwanted. No, this was not the Winter she’d always assumed to know. And by the look of utter, naked concern on her face, Weiss felt the request for confidence might not be wholly off base.

“I can’t remember the last time you spoke to me like this,” said Weiss. “Hell, I’m not sure you’ve _ever_ spoken to me so frank and equal…”

“A time for war and a time for peace,” said Winter.

“A time for lies and a time for truth,” answered Weiss.

For a time (maybe a minute or two), the sisters Schnee just looked at one another. Across the mighty mahogany desk. In the flickering light of Winter’s office fireplace. Behind the stained-glass window, the gathering storm clouds finally opened up and rain began to pound the decorative panes with raucous force. It clicked and clattered, but neither woman paid it any mind.

A time for habit and a time for change…

“Why?” asked Weiss.

“Why what?”

The heiress shifted again, took a sip of coffee, then said, “You’re acting like you genuinely care about me. You’re acting as if you aren’t going to sell me out for brownie points with father. Worst of all though, you’re acting as if this has been your modus operandi all along. So I ask: _Why?_ ”

Winter chuckled. It lit her face—pushing closer and closer to forty—with unearthly youth and vivacity. Like an elixir had been poured over her. ‘Twas surely a wonder she didn’t have men killing one another to be after her…

“You’re absolutely right to be suspicious, Weiss,” Winter said. “I really can’t—and _won’t_ —blame you, but I still have to ask for your trust here. I wish I hadn’t seen what I saw, but I did. Now, I’ve words of warning to give, but I cannot do so if you will not give me your listening ear.”

“Then speak,” said Weiss, and nothing more.

The elder Schnee cleared her throat, had one last draining gulp of her Vacuan Amber, and laid her spirit bare. Lots of that going around these last few weeks, it seemed.

“Father is suspicious,” Winter began. “He hasn’t done it yet, but you’re going to be watched soon enough. Since Miss Rose is with you in this, I wanted to share that with both of you—but if you trust her enough to commit to such insanity, then I suppose my faith is in you to relay this and in her to understand.

“What my true concern is though, is that you keep this under wraps long enough to finish up here. That is, assuming your endgame is the same as I once knew it to be…”

Winter leveled a questioning glare on Weiss. Without missing a beat, Weiss only nodded in response. _‘Yes,’_ that nod said, and with due gravity.

“In that case,” Winter went on, “bear in mind how father is apt to react to this. I’m sure you’ve not spoken with him enough in recent years to know, but neither do I doubt you’ve suspected such: that he wishes you married off, to have a proper successor to the Schnee name.”

“Oh, I picked up on that some time ago,” said Weiss.

“Then it goes without saying how this would… _upset_ him, having his last true chance at an heir taken away. And though I doubt it comes purely from malice, the point remains that—while you are striving for company headship—you’re only another pawn on his chessboard.”

The heiress nodded, saying: “Yes, and pawns ought not to think for themselves, correct?”

“Correct indeed. So, do keep this as tightly lidded as you can.”

“I won’t say I’ve dwelled on it this deeply,” said Weiss, “but I’ve certainly considered everything you just brought up.”

“And is _she_ worth all that risk?”

Weiss took only a moment to consider her answer. Not the meat of it, mind, but the delivery. In the end, she settled on short and sweet.

“Yes,” the heiress answered firmly.

Again, Winter found herself unable to withhold a chuckle. And again, the heiress marveled at her sister’s beauty in the firelight. Orange and gold hues lit the jovial contours of Winter Schnee’s smiling, laughing face; cast fiery cascades along the silver tresses that flowed freely down her shoulders. Why had this side of her been hidden for so long? Weiss wondered that, but also found herself exhuming a truth in the same thought…

_This must be why Ruby was so hurt to lose **her** sister_ , Weiss mused.

“There may soon come a day, Weiss, when you have to choose one to cut loose and one to hold close,” said the elder Schnee. “I hope not, but I’m sure enough it will be so. Until that day though, I implore you to enjoy this bond the two of you seem to have forged. It’s something you’ll never find again, even if these feelings come to you from and for another.”

“What does that mean?” the heiress asked, honestly confused.

“It means,” answered Winter, “that no matter what, no two loves are the same. I’m assuming that’s about the gist of what the two of you have for each other, no?”

To that, Weiss only nodded.

“Then I’ve said my piece on the matter.”

And with that, Winter reached for the decanter once more. This time when she offered the Vacuan Amber to her younger sister, Weiss was quick to relent and have a splash in her coffee. Would probably taste like hell, Weiss assumed, but there was sure to be more to the conversation yet.

And oh, how right she was…

 

α

 

About half the way through the train ride, the storm clouds overhead opened up and Ruby was nearly lulled to slumber by the sound of if beating the train’s top. A hollow clatter mixed wonderfully with the low rumble of the engines, bringing her back to Patch. Back to the old days, spent with her sister and father, where summer rains would be waited out with stories by candlelight and naps beneath the soothing deluge rattling the tin roof.

But it did arrive in due time, that slender train. Just after noon that was. A delay here and there had slowed the progress, but upon messaging Mahogany once more, Ruby was relieved to find he still awaited her.

So, she stood and disembarked onto the concourse. Above her sprawled the megalithic closed cradle of the Olympus Heights Station, gilded ceiling twinkling in the flickering braziers atop its massive supporting columns of marble. She had to take a moment to look up and admire that ceiling; the paintings of olden hunters and huntresses locked in epic battle with primeval Grimm, their exploits now committed to legend.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Ruby looked over. Beside her stood an incredibly tall man, his head crowned with a black rancher’s hat. He wore what looked at first like a priest’s robe to her, white collar cinched tight at the top. It was only on a slightly closer look that she saw it was a duster, as a gunslinger from Vacuo might wear.

Then he, too, looked at her and smiled, revealing gorgeous white teeth beneath nigh-glowing emerald eyes.

“It’s my first time here,” Ruby answered, a bit disarmed by the eerily handsome stranger. “And yeah, it’s gorgeous.”

The man looked up at the ceiling, and Ruby joined him. One particular effigy caught her eye as she did. It was of a woman in a flowing emerald cloak, sword raised high in her left hand and shield hugged close in her right. Her eyes were inlaid silver and shone most bright in the light of the braziers.

“Scarlet,” said the man.

“Her?” asked Ruby, pointing to the warrioress.

The man nodded, saying, “Aye, she’s quite the mythic one. Scarlet of the Hundred Roses, first bearer of the moonlit eyes…”

Hearing this and becoming entranced quite immediately—partly from the man’s eerie aura and partly from her own imagination—Ruby nearly forgot why she was there at all. If not for the ringing of her scroll, she might have indeed lost herself to daydreaming.

She pulled the device from her pocket and looked at the message.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got something I need to do.”

“’Tis fine, fair lady,” answered the man with a shallow bow. “We’ve all our ghosts to attend.”

With that, the strange man made to leave. For a reason she would not know until the very end, Ruby reached out and clutched his sleeve, stopping him. Curious, he turned to her once more.

“I’m Ruby,” she said. However, it felt like it wasn’t quite her own consciousness speaking.

“I know,” responded the man.

“Who are you?” Ruby pressed. “You seem very… _familiar_ , somehow.”

“Just a wandering scholar,” the man answered. “My name isn’t worth knowing.”

He said no more, and before Ruby could press further he tugged his sleeve from her grip and departed. His garish black cowboy boots clicked loud as he went, almost as the clopping of a horse’s hooves. She watched him go, feeling her senses return, and was racked with a violent shiver. But she paid this little mind, now having mostly come back to herself.

Instead, Ruby turned and resumed her approach to the mighty doors of the Olympus Heights. Business awaited her within.

 

α

 

The restaurant was dim almost to the point of sightlessness. In that dark, the sprawling size of the place seemed all the more monolithic. Much like those Weiss had taken her to not a few times now, only terribly cold. Dark and concealed, intimate yet strange.

How perfect then, considering who she came to meet.

Ruby walked into Eden’s Bounty with these thoughts in mind. Both forefront and subconscious. The first feature she noticed aside from the dark was the reception area. It was almost cozy, being such a small pocket next to the wide-open sea of tables beyond its little half wall. In that pocket of a reception was (oddly enough) a receptionist. A comely woman, dressed in a tux and calmly gliding her jaded eyes over a clipboard of some sort.

Beyond the receptionist, the sea of tables stretched too far for Ruby’s eyes to discern in the dim lighting. All were made of black oak with burgundy tablecloths on top. At the center of each was a single black rose in a small vase and a candle, burning some odd fuel that turned their flames green. Copper, as Ruby recalled, had such an effect, but whether that was the case or not was beyond her ken. At some tables sat lone executives and important personages, whereas others held the occasional pair or trio. One large table near the edge of her vision had a group that looked to be six or more, but none of them spoke. The place was an absolute hush, save for the muted clinking of tableware.

“May I help you?”

Ruby looked over, to the podium on her left, and saw it was the receptionist addressing her. Heavens, she must look like a tourist, being so awestruck.

“Uh, yeah,” said Ruby. “I’m here to meet someone.”

“And who might that be?”

Ah yes, a name might help. To that (the question and her own thought), Ruby could hardly help a weak blush.

“Mr. Saxton?” she half asked, half answered.

The receptionist, already looking tired of her, returned to peering over her clipboard. Upon looking closer, Ruby saw it to be an electronic pad of some sort. Of course it was—what else _would_ it be in such a high-class place?

“I see. Mr. Saxton—Mahogany—table for two.” The receptionist looked up at Ruby. “He’s right this way, Ma’am. Seated in a private booth. Please, follow me.”

Without waiting for a response, the receptionist went.

Ruby followed and they entered the sea of tables. Weaved in, out, round and about them. Despite the mammoth look of the place, it took them only a minute or so to reach the back, where the receptionist opened up a pitch-black door and motioned for Ruby to enter.

“He’ll be right inside, Ma’am.”

“Thanks,” said Ruby, and on she went.

The receptionist did not follow, but instead shut the door behind her and returned to the front. Ruby found herself alone in an admittedly short stretch of hallway, one that was unfortunately dark and almost totally impossible to see in. She could make out the outline of the wall on her either side however, and by this felt her way through.

It struck her as odd how the place was set up. Then again, the woman held few misconceptions about understanding the minds of the opulent and affluential. If anything, she assumed their thoughts were impossible to understand without being the same.

Thinking this as she took careful steps down the dark hallway, Ruby was relieved to notice a bit of light ahead on the left. Soft and flickering, she came to see it was one of the candles just as the sea of tables sported. Not green though; this one was a rich red, almost like a traffic signal.

“Hello?” Ruby called into the booth. “Are you there, Mister Saxton?”

“I told you,” thundered a friendly voice, “it’s Mahogany. My father was Mister Saxton, and bless us all that he’s long dead.”

Ruby chuckled, and quite suddenly felt all the trepidation leave her. Without a hint of hesitation, she went on in.

It was a cozy spot, albeit about as dark as the rest of the place had been. Even despite the rich crimson of the lone candle at the table’s center. But Ruby spotted Mahogany immediately—sitting back-to-the-wall as he ever did, a paranoid habit he’d declined to tell her the source of—and went to take the seat across from him. Positioned just in front of an unlit aquarium it was, which startled her a tad upon noticing.

“Good to see you, Miss Rose,” Mahogany said. He offered her a smile that, despite being friendly, was quite twisted and sinister.

“Likewise,” Ruby agreed. “But please, if you’re Mahogany then I’m just Ruby. Miss Rose has been gone for a while and I miss her a lot.”

“My pardons for dredging up sour memories.” The man offered a shallow bow of his head. “Do please sit though. Get comfy, our meals will be here shortly.”

Surprisingly enough, Ruby found it rather easy to get comfortable. There was something about the man that always managed to settle her, despite his disconcerting mannerisms. Probably how he talked her into working for him in the first place.

“So, tell me,” said Mahogany, “what’s on the mind of my star employee?”

For a moment, it felt as though she might not be able to answer. But Ruby found her courage and motivation on remembering Weiss—and their many fruitful talks of late—and said her piece.

“I came to talk about that, actually.”

“Being my best attraction?”

“Sort of. More like, being _employed_ at all…”

Sudden and violently loud, Mahogany threw his head back, wrapped his arms about his stomach, and bellowed laughter the likes of which Ruby had never heard. It sounded quite like thunder in the midst of a raging sea-storm. Nearly shook her bones. Thankfully though, it hardly lasted; before a minute could pass, the mountain of a man sat up straight once more.

He leaned into the red glow of the candle and said, “Speak your mind.”

So, she did.

“I lied to you, Mahogany,” Ruby said. “I asked for an advance in pay, but I had no intention to come back.”

“I surmised as much.” He sounded absolutely disinterested.

“Yeah, I saw _that_ in your eyes. So, I’m here to ask: do I still have a job?”

The man smiled again, and in the light of the candle Ruby could see just how awful his teeth were. Bent and broken and jangled, though the terrible yellow of them was indistinguishable against the red glow. They were quite the contrast to the rest of his chiseled, handsome features.

“Tell me first whether or not you’ve satiated your ghosts, Ruby.”

“I have,” she answered assuredly.

“Then why _wouldn’t_ I have a place for you? Considering you still want it, that is.”

Boy, how she wished to have some water or tea. Thoughts were beginning to crop up and swirl about her head now. Of Yang and her letter. Of Weiss and their budding relationship. Worst of all though, of the promise she’d made to herself to come _clean_ to Yang, in the elevator at the hospital. Sure, Yang probably wouldn’t have given her any guff about it all; she’d always been supportive and aware that, sometimes, one had to eat the crow before the turkey.

But that was gone now, wasn’t it?

Yet, for a miracle (more than a few of those today), Mahogany seemed to read at least a few of these thoughts on Ruby’s face. The gentle contours and shifts of expression were made clear as daylight by the glow of the candle, and he was nothing if not observant.

“Listen up, lassie,” said he, slipping into the accent of his homeland. “Before you go sayin’ anything about it, let me put it to ya this way:

“Since you started ‘ere, I’ve seen almost twice the bodies flooding in for each o’ your shows. I’ve had lasses with twice the skill and years in the limelight, but only a handful has ever jumped the numbers like you ‘ave. Now, I do feel a bit nasty for dragging you into this—even if it’s ‘elping ya through schooling and whatnot—but as a business decision, it’s been one o’ my better ones.”

Ruby opened her mouth to speak. Mahogany, in return, lifted one mighty hand and leveled a humbling glare on her. She said nothing.

“If ya wanna keep dancin’, I’ll not be crying you off. That’d be like cooking my golden goose for taking a nap, if that makes any sense. So I says: if ya want to keep at it, you’re absolutely still employed. If, however, you decide that dancin’ through this university ain’t your style no more, then it won’t be I holdin’ your feet to the fire.”

When Mahogany fell silent, it felt as though the air left the little booth. The words he left hanging seemed to have a gravity of their own. And in the silence, Ruby was quite surprised to feel a dampness on her cheeks, crawling slowly chin-ward. Salty and stinging, her vision began to blur with the quiet, tranquil tears.

“I don’t know what ghosts you think you’ve rested, lass,” said Mahogany, “but I cannae believe _they_ are done with _you_. So, here’s my thought on _that_ matter…”

Ruby wiped the few tears away and straightened up. Mahogany, silent for the moment, produced a silver box from his breast pocket. He opened it up and withdrew a small cigar, took the candle from the table and lit it. Then, with a bellowing puff, he went on.

“Why don’t you have another wee advance—we’ll call it a severance if this goes tits-up—and go think things through for a bit. The club’s under renovation right now, so there’s little reason to worry ‘bout it anyways. And should you decide you’d like to have at it again, you can come back (on your usual schedule) when the next schoolyear starts.

“How’s that sound, then?”

The mighty oak of a man reclined and eyed Ruby knowingly. At first, she couldn’t think what to say. She could only marvel at the offer. Was he serious? If so, why was he being so lenient and generous?

Yet, try as she might, Ruby could sense nothing in the way of malice from Mahogany. If anything, he was simply kind—creepy and unsettling, but kind.

“We’ll make it a whole month’s pay,” the man added, before falling silent in wait.

She thought about it. The windfall would certainly help get the next year’s essentials started up. Books and tuition front-pay, plus there was the matter of restocking scholastic materials. Add to that her empty fridge and pantry and Ruby found herself honestly tempted by the offer. Perhaps not quite enough to offset her distaste of receiving pay without work, but getting there.

Then, remembering Weiss and how she’d been the recipient of their outings thus far…

“Can I give you my answer now and still get that bonus?” Ruby asked.

The man snorted a chuckle.

“’ _Bonus,_ ’ you say?”

“Let me keep _some_ of my pride…” Ruby said, looking away.

“If you say, so it be,” said Mahogany. “Fine then; you can have your… _bonus_ , and give your answer now. If you feel up to it.”

Ruby returned her gaze to Mahogany. The cigar clutched in his right hand had quickly become little more than a nub. And while she watched, he took another massive puff, dragging off maybe a quarter-inch before her eyes. It glowed bright and smoked wildly, lighting the cloud he sighed out like a star glowing in a haze of cosmic dust.

“I want to make my own way through here,” said Ruby. “So if you’ll still have me, then I’ll keep dancing.”

“And that’s your heart talking, lass?” Mahogany pressed.

“It is.”

Mahogany took one more puff and mashed out his cigar, then leaned in close and rested his chin on interlaced fingers.

“You’re welcome aboard. But heed me this: following your heart is well and good, but be sure the bastard don’t mislead you. ‘Tis a tricky thing, the heart. As apt to lead us to damnation as salvation.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ruby.

The oak of a man sat up straight and gave one more, bellowing guffaw.

From the corner of her eye, Ruby noticed a light approaching from down the hall. It was small and weak and pointed at the floor, lighting up the path as it bobbed up and down. Finally, a man emerged from the dark of the hall, his hands occupied by assorted trays. These he sat down—next to Ruby—and opened their toppers before setting out plate after plate on the table between Ruby and Mahogany.

“Bon appetit,” was all he said before disappearing back into the hallway.

“This place is too goddamn stuffy for me,” said Mahogany, watching the waiter go. “Lights dimmed or entirely off, creepy staff saying next to nothing to ya. It’s enough to make a sensible man sick, so it is.”

Ruby looked over the plate before her. Despite the glow of the candle, it was far too dark to make out what exactly it was. By the outline, it looked like rice and vegetables with a tiny cube of some meat. Perhaps meat _loaf_?

“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually,” said Ruby. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Mahogany had already begun to dig into his own meal. Upon Ruby’s question, he ceased just long enough to answer her.

“They say it makes the _cuisine_ taste better if you can’t see.”

And so, it was in this manner that their meeting devolved: from serious rendezvous to simple chitchat over a businesslike shared meal. It went on as such for the next hour until both were finished.

When all was said and done—meals eaten and desserts passed up—Mahogany led Ruby out of Eden’s Bounty and back to the Olympus Heights proper. He then said his farewells and started to leave, when out of nowhere, Ruby called his name. He’d only gotten perhaps halfway across the foyer.

“Mahogany!” she yelled out, drawing looks from the few guests around them.

He turned her way.

“Thanks!”

To that, he only gave another smile—still twisted despite its kindness—and left.

Ruby’s train ride after was quite the contemplative affair.

 

Ͼ

 

As for the heiress, she left her sister’s office somewhere around five in the evening. More than a little besotted too, were one to be honest. Red-faced and a tad dizzy, but aware of herself and mostly composed. At least, enough to find her way out of the MTU and to the train’s cradle beyond.

There, Weiss boarded the express line headed for the district where Ruby’s apartment lay. And she rode in quiet, nervous (and somewhat drunken) silence. All the while, jealously and worriedly clutching an envelope to her chest. Manila it was, and quite thick with papers within.

Once just before the train pulled into its terminus, Weiss opened it to peer within. She read only the first line before shutting it, more than a little anxious what the looming conversation might bring.

_Request for transfer_ , the document header read…

 

Ђ

 

It was seven o’ clock when Ruby heard a knock at her door. She’d just finished whipping up a simple dish of rice noodles and veggies. Stir-fry if you will, and quite delightful to the nose. Looking over the humble meal, Ruby sighed with contentedness before leaving it to answer the door. And lo, ‘twas Weiss she saw standing in the doorway. Much soberer now, yet still red-faced and slightly given for breath.

“Are you alright?” Ruby asked.

“Fine,” said Weiss. “May I come in?”

“Of course!”

Ruby stepped back to clear the way. The heiress, in turn, stepped into the cozy, pleasingly scented abode. Ruby shut the door and followed her friend ( ** _girl?_** ) into the living area.

Now, the heiress’ mind was still on the package in her arms. That and the conversation with her sister that had consumed nigh unto the entire day. But when she saw the little foldable table set up in the middle of the living area—with a single, white rose in a simple vase and a flickering candle beside it—her heart did skip more than a few beats. It stuttered and thudded, threatening to still in her chest.

“Don’t laugh,” said Ruby, stepping around Weiss to head for the kitchen nook. “I just wanted to do something to thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

“Gracious, Ruby…” Weiss sighed. “Where’d you find the time?”

To that, Ruby could only chuckle. She set the plates full of stir-fry on the table and turned to the heiress.

“You know what time it is, right?” she asked.

Weiss, realizing she had no idea, freed one hand to find her scroll. But Ruby was quicker, answering her own question before the heiress came near to finding the device.

“It’s a little past seven,” said she. “The day’s almost done.”

With that said, she went back to setting up the last of the candle-lit dinner. Weiss, meanwhile, found a suitable spot on Ruby’s desk to lay the manila envelope before taking herself a seat at the little table. Or trying to, at least, as Ruby pulled the chair out to offer before she could.

“ _Milady_ ,” Ruby said, smiling coyly.

Weiss giggled a bit and took the offered seat. Her heart was racing, but she felt ever so at home and comfy despite this. Sure, the situation was far unexpected, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. There was almost a sort of exotic feel to it, having a dinner set up like this.

In short time, Ruby took her own seat—after, of course, setting out drinks for them both—and their meal commenced.

Oh, it was wonderful to the heiress, that simple meal. The food was certainly nothing to rave about, and the drinks were only sparkling mineral water and juice, but the _emotion_ behind it set the whole experience a cut above. It was clear in every bite that someone had made this food with another in mind; each taste held the feel of consideration.

Then, Ruby spoke, and in the candlelight Weiss found herself smitten anew with the silver-eyed vixen across from her.

“It’s been a crazy year,” she said.

“You can say that again,” Weiss agreed.

“Hard to believe where I am,” Ruby went on. “This whole place—the school, the city—feels so unreal sometimes… But I’m very thankful to be attending…”

Ruby stopped mid-bite—fork raised with noodles coiled about it—and looked up from her plate. For a moment, she simply let herself regard the heiress. Admired her refined beauty in the dim, flickering glow of the candle. Watched the funny way she tilted her head. Giggled when, after a time of her silent vigil, Weiss began to shift as if nervous.

“I’m especially thankful for _you_ ,” said Ruby before resuming her meal.

Oh boy, Weiss was sure her heart had gone still.

 

Ђ

 

They had their meal, those two roses, in calm camaraderie. Before the flickering glow of the candle and with the sound of a gentle rain tapping the window, they talked of this and that and the other.

Ruby told of her meeting with Mahogany in the Olympus Heights. She explained how odd the man was, yet how unsettlingly disarming it was to be around him. Like a second father, she said more than once, though she shouldn’t be so blessed. She did neglect to mention her bonus—of course, for why spoil the surprise—but did emphasize she would still be doing her thing. And let it not be unsung how she hinted at the relief she would feel should Weiss continue to attend.

The heiress, on the other hand, told only the bare minimum regarding her meeting with Winter. Until Ruby asked directly, that is.

“So, did our teacher have anything important for us?”

Weiss, fidgeting a bit, said, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

Their meal was done now and Ruby had bussed the dishes, so naught remained between them but glasses of fizzy juice-drink and a muted aura of romance. Both were enjoying it plenty, but Ruby was more than a little curious about the meeting. It distracted her from the calm, refined beauty of her relaxed girlfriend across the table.

“She said she wanted to speak to both of us,” said Ruby. “Sorry I left you to do it yourself. Do you mind filling me in?”

But rather than answer, the heiress sighed. She set her glass down and stood from the table.

With careful, almost hesitant steps, she crossed the room to Ruby’s desk and retrieved the envelope. If asked, Weiss likely couldn’t have explained why she felt so anxious about it all. Perhaps it was the feeling of having hidden something from Ruby? Whatever it was though, it affected her a bitter and ponderous mood quite immediately. And when she sat back down to the table—manila envelope in hand—Ruby noticed her odd demeanor.

“What’s that?” she asked.

To which, Weiss only offered the envelope. Ruby took it and opened it up, pulled out the papers and tried to read. In the dimness of the room though, this was nearly impossible, so she stood to have the lights on. Weiss, however, beat her to them.

“Read through it,” said Weiss. “I’ll explain whatever you wish after.”

So, the heiress sat and waited.

 

Ω

 

Let us not drag it out, but to say that Ruby only took some ten minutes to read over the sheaves of paper. Though in all honesty, the top piece said all that needed saying.

_The following is procured at the request of:_ **Winter Schnee _._** _For the purpose of facilitating transfer to the student:_ **Ruby Rose** _._

_Set into the muster-class designated 117 Sierra, this form will allow transfer to another muster-class of the student’s choosing. Submission must be filled out and returned in triplicate, one copy to be made out to current designation, 117 Sierra, and one to designation of desired muster-class. Student must also retain one copy for their own records, the purpose to be verification upon request by faculty._

 

Beyond this, most of it was legal garble Ruby did in fact gloss over. But one particular bit caught her eye at the end, stating:

 

_Right of and authority for transfer given by:_ **Axter Levaleis.**

 

Once finished—and fully curious—Ruby looked up from the papers.

“What’s this all about?” she asked. Her tone was halfway between worried and suspicious.

The heiress, now nervous beyond measure, sighed.

“Remember how your sister got you in here?” Weiss watched Ruby nod, then said, “Axter—my old tutor and friend—asked me, through Winter, to tutor you when your grades started flagging. Remember that?”

Again, Ruby only nodded. Her silver eyes were quite intense now, regarding Weiss in a manner the heiress could not read. They looked studious almost, and also somehow hurt. Or was that anger?

Or, perhaps, was Weiss only imagining these things?

“I didn’t do it out of the kindness of my heart,” Weiss went on. “When we first met in fact, I really despised you. You were so annoying and so carefree—I couldn’t help but feel insulted at the way you seemed to take this whole place as a joke. But…”

The heiress trailed off. Her nervousness had now become a sort of nauseating shame, and the caringly prepared meal in her belly was turning sour.

“So, Axter was the reason we started hanging out and studying?” Ruby half asked, half stated.

“Yes,” Weiss answered, looking away.

A moment of silence, then Ruby said, “I’ll have to thank him if I ever meet him.”

The heiress looked up suddenly, her head whipping so violent it seemed it would pop off. Not an instant passed and she could feel hot, wet streams coursing from her eyes.

“I don’t really care how it came about, Weiss,” said Ruby. “I’m just glad we _did_ start associating. I mean, I kinda wanted to be your friend from the start. Something about you just seemed so… _awesome_. Mysterious and aloof and collected, you looked like nothing could get at you. And like I said, when I noticed it was _you_ coming to watch me dance…”

At the mention of this, Weiss felt the dampness of her tears—short-lived though they were—replaced by a burning heat beneath her cheeks. And when she opened her mouth to speak, naught but a whisper came for it, unintelligible and devoid of actual words.

“I’m going to guess this is in case I wanted to move to a different track, right?” Ruby asked, motioning to the papers.

Weiss only nodded.

“In case, say, I felt I didn’t need your tutelage anymore?”

Again, a simple nod from Weiss.

“Then, can I assume we’re in the same classes if I just ignore these?”

Weiss nodded one last time, and when she did she noticed a most intense glint in Ruby’s gorgeous eyes.

She watched the raven-headed vixen stand and head into the kitchen nook. When Ruby returned, she had a fair-sized glass bowl in her hands. This she sat on the table, beside Weiss, before picking up the sheaves of paper once more.

“This is my answer to that,” said Ruby, and held them over the candle.

It lapped at the bottom-most corner for but a moment before they caught. Ruby held them there, watching the fire climb, until she was sure the job was done. Satisfied, she dropped the blazing papers into the bowl and turned to the heiress.

“Don’t mistake me, Weiss,” she said. “You might have confessed to me first—and I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t sudden and new and nerve-racking—but the answer I gave you by the lake isn’t going to change.

“Maybe this is all too fast, and maybe we’re just grasping at straws in the dark, but I wouldn’t trade your friendship ( _or more_ ) for anything else in the world…”

Before Weiss could say a thing, Ruby leaned in close and the heiress’ world burst into color. Surprise, if’n ya kennit, and a rainbow of elation behind that simple action. A humble gesture, an unsung commitment. Given by flesh but composed by the heart. Spoken not with words, but by the soft arcana of contact…

A kiss, lasting long enough to rob both of breath.


	4. Dance Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took far too long, and for that I am sorely sorry. I hope you will all enjoy it even still. Please also, give some love to the co-author of this one. She helped me clean it up and eyeball the quality. Would've taken another week, I'm sure, on my own.

Chapter 3

Dance Fever

 

Ϯ

 

When they awoke on Wednesday—once more at their own places apart—the weather outside was quite overcast. Early spring, as it is wont to do, had brought dark skies and a light drizzle to blanket the city of Constance. It left a thin sheen of dew across all the firmament and gave the air a cleaner feel, a better smell that cities such as this rarely experience.

Weiss and Ruby, leaving at nearly the same time, walked out into that drizzle with slightly dour spirits. Restless sleep had greeted both of them, made their dreams vivid and distracting. But when they smelled that cleaner air and felt its cool touch, their dour moods became somewhat better. Were it only that such things could long last.

Now, on the other side of Constance nearly, in the dormitories provided for staff of the MTU, another odd pair were rousing themselves to the day. One had been up for some few hours by this point (nearly seven in the morning), but the other had only just woken himself. Ever the lazy sort he was, much to the chagrin of his ‘ _handler,_ ’ as she now considered herself.

Winter Schnee and Levi Ansleif, exiting two different rooms in the staff dormitories at nearly the same moment, met gazes from across the long hall. Levi’s vibrant emerald eyes were visible to the piercing blue of Winter even over the twenty-some-odd yards between them. He gave her a hearty grin. She returned no such gesture.

“Top of the morning to ya, Lady Schnee!” he shouted.

The icy woman only sighed, irritated already at the prospect of having to share yet more of her time with the buffoon. Oh, she was surely going to have words with Jacques about this. Later problems those, though.

Ignoring his grin and hearty greeting, Winter started down the hall toward the exit onto the terrace. She had half a mind to entirely ignore the odd fellow and proceed straightaway to the school’s train cradle—where she might could catch Weiss, were she to hurry. Winter gave up on this notion, however, when Levi began to jog down the hall, his long-coat’s tail billowing behind him. Instead she sucked in a quick breath and steeled herself for his tomfoolery.

“Say,” said Levi, now caught up to Winter, “didn’t I get a message from you yesterday? Something about a discreet missive you wanted delivered to your father?”

“As a matter of fact, you did,” answered Winter coarsely. “I would wonder, then, why you saw fit not to even respond, much less to entirely ignore me.”

“Business, fair Madam.” Levi tipped his garish hat and gave a slight bow. “’Twas nothing to worry thee over, I assure. But I’m free as the dickens now; would you like my courier service, still?”

His accent, attempting something between a backwoods hick and a Vacuan ranch-hand, was grating her nerves fiercely. Even still, Winter swallowed her ire and reached into her coat pocket. She too had worn a long-coat this morn, seeing already the state of the weather long before leaving her quarters, and in it had packed away the missive she’d prepared the night before.

Holding the letter in her hands now—just about to give it over—she thought better of the recipient. Jacques Schnee, after all, was rarely thought of as either trustworthy or honest. Even to his own kin, pity as that was.

“On second thought,” said Winter, handing over the letter, “why don’t you see this to Axter Levaleis? You do know who that is, yes?”

“Of course!” Levi proclaimed, taking the letter at the same moment. “Fine old friend to you Schnees, yes I know of him. Any timeline in mind?”

Winter looked into the emerald eyes staring intently at her, perhaps a bit deeper than she’d meant to. Suddenly and quite frighteningly, she felt her heart lurch and skip a few beats, her face flush, and her breathing become a tad labored. It was as though—heavens and gods forfend—she were some schoolgirl standing before her crush.

“Posthaste,” she said at last, with a mighty huff that would have been more appropriate from her sister.

“And should I expect a return?” Levi pressed. “Perhaps some article I am to present, so he knows it is truly from thee? One never knows when spies and spooks are imitating honest messengers, milady.”

Ah yes, the inevitable, unavoidable jibe. This was Levi after all, that damnable oaf her father had pushed off on her. Funny he should mention spies, Winter thought, being that he was indeed one for all intents and purposes.

“Just shut that idiot mouth of yours and be off,” Winter answered him. “If I could send this over other, less obtuse means then I would. Anything to avoid dealing with you, _good Sir_ , I assure you.”

“Is it really that important?” Levi turned the simple envelope over, looked it up and down as though he were attempting to read through the paper. When he was satisfied—either with his act or his attempt—he looked back up for Winter.

She was already halfway out the door to the terrace.

“It is important enough,” said Winter over her shoulder, “that I will have _more_ than a pound of flesh from you if you either lose it, fail to deliver it, or goof off and do not return an answer to me in decent time. Is that clear enough for you?”

Winter looked back at him. Levi met her gaze with nary a glimmer of fear, almost looking excited even. He grinned wide and vicious.

“Oh, _crystal clear_ ,” said he.

 

Ђ

 

Class began at o-nine-hundred sharp, just as usual. Fortunately, Winter seemed in better spirits today, to Weiss’s wit, even despite her pallid features and general look of illness. If she hadn’t come straight in and started going through the end of year motions—passing out yet more paperwork, lecturing about the necessity for care when choosing their career-line courses, going on about the dance on Friday yet again—the younger Schnee might have thought her sister sick.

Things went off mostly without a hitch though, so there was that. Lucius still hadn’t shown back up but all seemed nonplussed about this. It was generally assumed he’d be back in time for the dance, knowing his blueblood family and connections.

Lunch came at thirteen-hundred. Weiss and Ruby hurried to the café for a tiny snack—a cup of fruit and yogurt, tea to drink—and class went on. By sixteen-hundred, all was done. They left without so much as a word from Winter, chatting idly with each other over this and that, walking leisurely toward the train cradle at the front of the MTU.

On their way, when casting a glance her direction, it hit Weiss once more just how gorgeous Ruby looked this day. Her hair had a slight shine to it and the scent of strawberries and lilacs hung about her like an airy curtain. And though her attire was nothing special—black slacks and a loose-fitting, lightly purple blouse coupled with a soot-grey shawl—there almost appeared to be an ethereal element to her as the heiress continued to sneak quick peeks. Weiss did her best not to be noticed at this, as they walked along.

Then, when Ruby made mention of the dance on Friday, Weiss’s eyes glossed over briefly and she stopped dead still.

“Are you alright, Weiss?” came Ruby’s gentle voice.

The heiress looked up at her, face growing a bit pallid and stomach turning. She wished thoroughly she’d brought an umbrella, for what was earlier not much more than a drizzle was now becoming actual rain. It felt awfully cold to her heated flesh.

“I’m fine,” she said, then shook her head. “No, actually, I guess I’m not.”

Weiss looked around for a moment to ascertain whether or not they were in earshot of others. Some few of their fellows walked by here and there, going their way to whatever business had them about. None, however, were terribly close or seemed to be paying either the heiress or her love any mind. Satisfied, she turned back to Ruby.

“Mind if I come over?” she asked.

“To my place?”

“No, to the shattered moon,” the heiress quipped, trying for humor.

Between her tone and suddenly-odd demeanor, Ruby mistook it for actual ire and slunk away slightly.

“Sorry,” Weiss said, “that wasn’t supposed to sound so harsh.”

Ruby shook her head and waved one hand as if to say it was fine, offering a weak smile.

“Yes, well, in any case… I was talking about coming over to your place. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. Any… particular reason?”

The heiress began her walk again, passing Ruby as she said, “I’d just like to hang out with you. Not very interested in my own company right now.”

Ruby thought to ask her more, but decided against it. Instead she followed the heiress on toward the cradle, where they boarded a train and went on their way.

 

Ђ

 

The train ride was uneventful and about as boring as train rides are wont to be. What had earlier been idle and leisurely chat between them was now an awkward, slightly nervous silence. A few times Ruby tried to ask the heiress what was on her mind. Each time though, upon looking Weiss’s way to speak, she thought better of it at the look in her girlfriend’s eyes. Something was wrong and off but she simply couldn’t work up the courage to ask what.

Then, perhaps halfway through the ride, an idea occurred to Ruby. She mulled it over for but a moment before turning to Weiss, having finally found some courage to speak.

“Hey, Weiss,” she started, perhaps a bit quiet, “how would you feel about seeing a movie?”

The heiress looked over, met her gaze and repeated, “A movie?”

“Yeah.” Ruby nodded a few times, smile already forming. Weiss seemed interested, at least. “When I’m feeling down or worried, a good movie usually picks me up. I mean, obviously not for the _bad_ things, but if it’s just a sour mood or something…”

Ruby looked into the icy eyes before her, awaiting some response. When nothing came, she went on.

“Anyway, The Dark Tower came out a while ago. Couple weeks, I think?”

“Something like that,” agreed the heiress. “Pretty sure I remember seeing an ad or two.”

“Yeah, well, why don’t we go see it?”

“Tonight?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hm…” hummed the heiress, considering the notion briefly before saying, “Sounds good to me.”

Ruby gave her a wide, happy grin.

And so, rather than get off at their original stop they remained on the train for two more. When it pulled into the cradle overlooking Librum Avenue, and adjacent to the restaurants and other attractions of Constance, they disembarked and were once more chatting in good humor as they went along.

 

Ђ

 

Just before they strolled up, Weiss realized they hadn’t checked the showing times. To her slight relief and great surprise, they arrived right in time for an evening matinee. As such, they bought their tickets, hurried inside and picked up some concessions, and reached their seats as the last of the prescreening commercials was wrapping up.

Ruby looked simply ready to burst with excitement. Having borrowed and read through the first book and most of the second, Weiss was quite interested as well. Not near as much so as her girlfriend, but enough to be a bit anxious.

The film began and they watched in unmoving silence for a while. It was certainly a spectacle, the heiress observed, but clearly little more. Perhaps twenty minutes in and Ruby—growing irate almost from the first minute—began to bounce in her seat and quietly seethe.

“ _That’s not how that goes!_ ” she whispered in anger, to no one in particular.

Weiss leaned over and asked, “ _This is the same Dark Tower, right?_ ” though she knew full well it was.

“ _Yeah_ ,” whispered Ruby, “ _but then again, King is known for this sort of thing. I’d… **hoped** he might surprise this time, that’s all. I mean, this is his magnum opus…_ ”

The heiress fully turned her gaze to Ruby, a tad shocked to hear her use such a word. Even in the dim light of the theater, Ruby could see the disbelief on her love’s features. She giggled lightly, knowing exactly what it was for.

“ _I read for fun, Weiss_ ,” she said quietly, winking. “ _I’ve picked up a few fancy words here and there._ ”

Weiss said nothing else, only smiled faintly and turned back to the screen. Ruby did the same and started to watch again. As the minutes ticked by and the film went on, she grew ever more infuriated with the treatment of one of her most beloved works of fiction. That is, until she felt a distinctly warm, slender hand wrap around her own.

Ruby quickly turned and saw the heiress doing her best not to notice her gaze, face flushing redder as the moments went by. She smiled at this and turned to the film again, no longer irked in the slightest as the rest played out.

 

Ђ

 

Neither of them knew what time it was. They knew it was dark, still cold, and miserably damp from all the rain. But they did not know the time.

The Dark Tower ended and they left. Its culmination had been about what Ruby came to expect half the way through the film, but despite the utter disappointment of this her spirits were quite high. She walked along the well-lit street of Librum Avenue, the heiress’s hand wrapped around her own, face beaming and silver eyes glowing. Could have been half-past eternity for all she cared.

“You know,” said Weiss, looking up at the passing streetlights as they went, “I think Elba did a good job. He certainly had the no-nonsense attitude down pat. But… those guns he was using, aren’t they cap-fired?”

“Pah!” Ruby snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I noticed that too. I think it’s supposed to be a play on that old spaghetti-western trope. Ever seen The Man with No Name trilogy?”

“No.” Weiss shook her head.

Their pace slowed to a leisurely drawl, little more than a shuffle.

“Well, in most of the old westerns—that being one of the more widely-known examples—they used cap-fires like shell-fires. Why, though, I have no idea...”

“Just an oddity of creative types, I suppose,” mused the heiress.

They came to an intersection where the light had yet to turn green in their favor. Across the road, the sign housing the walk-signal displayed a bright orange palm. Weiss looked at the woman on her left while she awaited the crosswalk to change, once more drinking in her muted beauty. That and how the streetlight’s golden glow further accentuated the piercing silver of her eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier,” said Weiss suddenly.

Ruby looked over, met her stare, and said, “It was nothing. We all get stressed out.”

“No,” pressed the heiress, “it wasn’t nothing. And it surely isn’t how I should be acting toward _you_ of all people.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ruby offered.

The heiress looked away, back at the now-flashing orange palm on the crosswalk sign. Her face scrunched up a tad, brow furrowing and lips curving in a frown. Not a deep one, but enough to see.

“That dance…” said Weiss after a sigh.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” Ruby finished her thought.

Weiss looked at her again, met her icy-blues to those gleaming silvers. She smiled thinly and gave a short chuckle.

“No, I don’t.”

“Because of us?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Weiss nodded, looked away again and tightened her grip on Ruby’s hand. “But it’s just as well. I can guarantee my father is only putting it on to preen about his child’s ascendance over the company. ‘Look, see here! My daughter—this fine woman—will soon rule over you all!’”

Both shared a laugh at Weiss’s terrible imitation of her father’s voice, though Ruby had never heard the man speak and knew nothing of how he truly sounded. Still, the sound and tone were quite hilarious. Even moreso the look on the heiress’s face as she made the imitation.

“Are you embarrassed?” Ruby asked after the laughter passed them.

“No,” answered Weiss simply.

“Are you worried, then?”

“Yes,” she answered, again as simply.

“About being exposed?”

Ruby felt the heiress’s grip tighten once more, heard her breathing speed up and felt the woman’s racing pulse against her palm. And even through the cold of the post-rain early spring, she felt the heat radiating from her girlfriend as it grew in intensity. Had there been light enough, she might even have seen the full-body blush starting to consume the silver-headed woman beside her.

“I love you,” said Weiss, a bit quietly since they were very much in public. “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And I don’t want anything to even _chance_ jeopardizing what we have.”

“You don’t think you could just go, rub shoulders with the important who’s, and pretend it’s all normal for a few hours?”

Weiss laughed sharp and shrilly at that.

“Maybe,” she said, wistfully, “but I’m not sure what my normal is anymore. Plus—considering you would most certainly be swarmed—I don’t think I could hold myself from slapping any man that tried to dance with you. I hope it doesn’t disgust you, but I’m starting to think I might be the jealous type.”

To this, Ruby gave a seraphic little giggle, as though a playful cherub.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were,” she said. “Affluential people tend to be… _possessive_. Believe me, it’s no worry.”

“Still…”

Weiss sighed. This time, it was Ruby whose grip tightened. She even pulled the heiress a little closer, until their shoulders touched and both could feel the other’s warmth through the cold air.

“ _Still your heart_ , Weiss,” said Ruby. “And stop worrying so much. Say, do you remember what you said when you stopped me from running?”

Trying to suppress her blush, the heiress answered, “It hasn’t been that long, of course I remember. Why?”

Ruby released her grip on Weiss’s hand and slipped free, then draped her arm over the taller woman’s shoulders and pulled her close. With a tight grip this was, a friendly half-hug full of more-than-friendly emotion.

“I’m here for you, Weiss,” she said. “No matter what you choose, I’m here for you.”

The crosswalk sign turned from a red palm to a flashing white display of a walking person. Some few cars still on the rode sped off, heading to whatever had them in such a hurry, and the two women began to cross. Both were blushing quite powerfully and one was now blanking out in her mind. But still they went, giving not a care to who might see the display of their affection as they walked along. They knew it not, but only one pair of eyes watched them go, the few others out and about having not even a passing interest in their affairs.

And those eyes, accentuated by the streetlights, were a vibrant, glowing gold.

 

Ω

 

Far off in the city of Constance, two women were quite busy sleeping away the wee hours as the clock strolled listlessly on toward o-two-hundred. One Weiss Schnee, snoring gently and femininely, and one Ruby Rose, snoring a bit louder but about as girlishly, lay tangled up in the latter’s covers with nary a care on their minds. For one must note that those minds, though burdened awfully with their own woes, had been relieved at least for the eve of those selfsame stresses by the succor of good company.

On the far eastern edge of Atlas, however, a scene of not-so-peaceful descript was unfolding. Within a little cottage that would have looked more at home nestled deep in a forest, rather than overlooking the tumultuous waves of the sea from its perpetually-frozen vantage atop an icy shelf. Two men were busy meeting therein, readying to discuss things which at any moment could upset the peace between them. No, there was no good company there, no amicable or amiable camaraderie…

“Levi Ansleif it is, yes?”

“So I am, Ser Axter.”

The little old man shifted in his seat, which was comically large for his diminutive stature. His tired old eyes hidden by terribly drooping lids looked from Levi to the window closest to his door. He lifted one hand from his cane and pointed a stubby, gnarled finger.

“There the door is,” he said. “Ask you I have, not to call me Ser. Many times now, yes. Make use of the door you should, if heed my request you cannot.”

Levi grinned, showing off his inhumanly straight teeth.

“Prithee forgive my rudeness. Just Axter, then?”

The old man gave a small smile and nodded once, saying, “Do just fine that will. Now, if talk about this letter we may…”

Axter hopped down from his chair and tottered over to a coffee table none too far away. On it was a quaint display of wax fruit, flanked by a pair of lit candlesticks made of tarnished brass. In front of the bowl was the letter. He took it up in his shivering grip before returning to his chair. Though he had to struggle a bit, he managed to climb back into it and turned to face Levi once more.

“Ask you first, I must, why she has chosen such roundabout methods for delivery. Do you know?”

The strange man gave only a slow, deliberate shake of his head, emerald eyes never leaving Axter’s.

“Hm…” He scratched his chin idly, looking the letter over. “Passing strange, that is. In some trouble has she found herself?”

Axter looked back up to meet Levi’s stare, only to receive a shrug this time.

“Lie to you I will not,” the old man went on. “Trust you _I do not_. But, if in you has Jacques his own trust placed—his daughters to look after—then refuse you I shan’t.”

“Most kind, Axter,” said Levi. “Truly the Schnees know how to choose their confidants. Were it only the youngest of them were not so… _brash_ in her choice of company.”

Axter suddenly slammed the tip of his cane on the hardwood floor. The racket it caused echoed throughout the little cottage and shook some plates in a nearby curio.

“My words carefully heed, young man,” he said, eyes fully open and casting Levi a terrible glower. “If wise you are, interfere with that business you will not. Most regrettable to see you come to harm it would be. Yes, very much indeed.”

But Levi only met the little old man with an equally powerful glower, the cruel shine of his emerald eyes matching that of Axter’s lavender. So they stared for a minute, perhaps even two. Until the will of Axter’s glare overcame the defiance of Levi’s own and the younger relented, casting his gaze instead to the fireplace popping away on the far wall.

The wind howled hard outside. The sound of the roiling sea lapping the icy shelf reached them through the thick logs of the cottage wall. Just beyond the fireplace, on the outside, the sound of snow shifting and collapsing under its own weight crackled lightly.

“As for the letter,” said Axter, “tell Winter I will come, you may. The time and the place, only send me she must. Through other means if manage she can.”

“As you will, Axter.” Levi stood and gave a deep bow, just as garish as his getup. “Will you not be penning your own response, then?”

“For that, no need there is.”

“Very well. Then, if that is all, I will take my leave.”

Levi watched the little old man hop from his chair again, scuttle across the hardwood floor and begin undoing the latches on his door. When the last was undone, Axter opened the mighty pine barrier—allowing in a torrent of snow and howling wind—and motioned toward the pitch-black tundra beyond.

“Most pleasant that would be,” he said.

Levi said not another word, only took his leave. The door slammed shut behind him, and for a moment he wondered at what capabilities the old man must be hiding to so effortlessly close it against the raging blizzard. But that was neither here nor there, as he well knew. Witchy work was as yet undone in the city of Constance, and he needed to head back.

Once he’d traveled far enough from Axter’s cottage, Levi locked his hands together over his head and stretched, sucking in a deep breath of the bitingly cold air. Satisfied, he then waved one hand—fingers splayed in the shape of a runic ‘b’—and watched the air shiver. It was clear as day, like heat drifting off of fresh asphalt, despite the absolute dark and driving snow. The air shuddered and twisted, writhed and seethed, until it took weight and shape.

In but a moment it was a door, of simple design and simpler function.

“Next stop: Constance, University City of the Schnee Dust Company!” Levi shouted to the blizzard, followed quickly with a howl of laughter.

He took hold of the simple brass knob and twisted, stepping through as the door opened up. Shaking snow and dirt from his garish cowboy boots all over the gorgeous marble floor, he shut the door behind him and gave a satisfied huff. It hummed for a moment before reverting to what it had been: a door along the lengthy hallway to Winter’s office at the MTU.

With a little sign next to it that read _‘All-World Conference Room.’_

 

Ђ

 

Thursday morning came and it was about as humdrum as the previous.

Weiss and Ruby awoke in the latter’s apartment, a little later than they had meant to. It seemed Ruby’s little antique clock had finally given up the ghost. The arms were frozen at fifteen past two, and no matter Ruby’s effort it would not start up again. Once they had finished their morning routine and made ready to leave, Weiss asked if she could open the thing up and have a look at it.

“You know how to work on clocks?” mused Ruby aloud, watching her girlfriend tinker. “Gosh, is there anything you _don’t_ know?”

“Funny you should say that,” said Weiss with a chuckle, “cuz I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m doing. But…” She twisted something, undid a screw, and a loud pop echoed through the room. “I’m fairly sure this broken spring is why it stopped. Good luck finding a replacement without spending a fortune…”

Weiss held out the aforementioned spring, now in three pieces. Ruby took one piece and looked it over for a moment before placing it back in the heiress’s hand.

“It had a good, long run,” she said.

“So I can see,” Weiss agreed, trying to slip the pieces back into place. Satisfied they would not loose themselves and get lodged somewhere, she shut the back of the clock up and replaced the screws. “It’s a pity though, losing such a fine piece of Mistrali manufacture. I’d almost say it belongs in a museum.”

“Should have donated it, huh?”

The heiress made no remark, only shrugged and sat the clock back on Ruby’s desk.

“Think your sister will be mad we’re late?” Ruby asked, changing the subject.

“Probably,” answered Weiss, “but there’s nothing to be done about it. Shall we be off?”

Ruby gave her a thin smile and nodded. And so, they did exactly such, leaving her apartment and starting their trek for the school.

They held lighthearted conversation the whole way, avidly avoiding mention of Friday’s dance. On Weiss’s part, at least, for Ruby’s mind was firmly affixed to the subject. She kept her mouth silent on it but could not help her thoughts constantly turning to it.

One might wonder why, and one would be understandable to do such. But as is oft the case with such matters, ‘twas a most simple reason behind it. Perhaps wrongly placed, or misunderstood, or even flat-out incorrect—yet it was still an understandable reason.

Ruby felt she owed the heiress.

 

Ђ

 

When their classes ended and all were dismissed, Winter called Weiss and Ruby to her lectern. She gave them a short chiding for their late arrival and made as if she would say more. But after a few brief moments of nothing, she decided against it.

“I hope the two of you will enjoy tomorrow evening’s festivities,” said Winter instead.

“I’m… sure we will,” answered Weiss.

Ruby said nothing, only offered a sheepish smile. Their muster teacher gave both a worried look and left. As too did the rest of the class, one by one filing through the door. The heiress turned to her girlfriend once she was sure they were alone.

“We on for tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Ruby, “but are you sure you’re not getting bored of hanging out with me so much?”

Weiss gave it no thought, saying, “I’m quite sure. Besides, I’d like to give that game another shot. Relieve some tension before tomorrow’s big event.”

“Sounds good to me.” Ruby nodded her head, thinking a bit. “Yeah, Souls games have a way of relieving stress, despite how infuriating they can get.”

The heiress also gave a nod. She then looked up at the clock on the wall, just above Winter’s lectern. Her gaze met the hands, reading them, but her mind wandered quickly to other places. Ruby noted her lost stare but said nothing, having nothing truly _to_ say.

“How’s seven?” asked Weiss, still staring at the clock.

“That’ll work. Want me to order some takeout?”

“Nah,” the heiress sighed, “I’ll be sure to bring something. Mind if I come straight over?”

She turned back to Ruby, meeting their jeweled gazes. The raven-headed vixen only shook her head and smiled, assenting without a word. So too went their parting after that. The heiress gave a goodbye-wave and left, off to see to her own business. And after a moment of silent contemplation, Ruby too went on through the door, deciding she might do a little shopping before Weiss’s arrival.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss took the train to Librum Avenue, intent on paying her grandfather’s archives a visit this day. She rode the gently bumping, lightly swaying track in thoughtful quiet. With reserved calm she considered many things, thinking more and more on what she intended to search for. When the train pulled into its cradle, so too did she disembark in silence, ignoring every passerby as she went.

Across the concourse and down the stairs. Through five crosswalks and past some ten different shops. Over meticulously maintained sidewalks the likes of which would only be expected in brand-new cities. And finally, through the massive ghost-steel doors of the Grand Constance Archives, largest library on Atlas and third across all of Remnant.

It was like a castle on the inside, both in the architecture as well as the size. Aisles and aisles of bookcases formed a labyrinth, dizzying at only a glance, stretching fifteen feet toward the next floor. Some four feet above these literary monoliths was the finest Atlesian pine one could buy, sanded to the point of velvet smoothness, forming the ceiling above the bookcases. So went each of the thirty floors, winding upward in a dizzying spiral of knowledge and records that would surely make even a deity of arcana quite jealous.

The heiress spent only a moment deciding where to go. She shooed off one librarian and two eager interns on her way, climbing seven winding flights of stairs and passing through twenty long aisles. At last, she came to the Company Annals, wherein were detailed the every event of the SDC since its inception.

“Let’s see…” she muttered to herself, strolling leisurely down the chosen aisle. “Was it… the _Fourth_? No, no… the _Seventh_! Yes, that was it…”

With a satisfied huff, Weiss knelt down and picked what could only be described as a tome from the second shelf off the floor. It was heavy—at least six pounds—and easily as thick as four normal books put together. And in her grip, light and careful though it was, the thing felt ready to crumble to dust at the slightest provocation.

She held it to her bosom and made for the end of the aisle, searching for a decently tucked away spot to have a look. A table set up for two suited her fancy just fine and the heiress had herself a seat, once more giving in to the habit she had picked up from her love.

Just in front of a large, stained-glass window stretching some ten feet from top to bottom, Weiss Schnee opened up the tome and began to carefully peer over its contents. Perhaps thirty minutes passed of careful poring before she spotted what it was she was after, and began to read aloud to herself. Quietly enough not to be overheard, of course, though this made her action no less nonsensical.

“…As agreed upon by the founding members and primary interest holders, this contract is to be binding and irrefutable in any court or before any magistrate across the Kingdoms…” She continued to scan, mouthing the occasional word or two, until she thought the desired paragraph was found. “The newly termed ‘Schnee Dust Company’, which is now the parent entity of the ‘ColdWater Consortium’, shall select for itself a leading head from amongst its board members. All eligible are outlined in the earlier codified agreement, subsection alpha, point twenty-two…”

Further on she read, disappointed and a bit irked not to have found the right spot. Though perhaps it shouldn’t have, the complex garble and legalese of the book surprised even her. It read as though another language entirely, confusing definitions and sometimes even coining entirely new words where it suited the writers. But at last she found it, the one sentence that truly concerned her in the entire, six-pound book.

“Should any dissent be found among the board, and on the burden of only one-third, a vote to dismiss actions of the company head may be assessed.”

Weiss leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, shut her eyes and tilted her head to the Atlesian pine ceiling above. For a few minutes she simply sat there, breathing in the musty scent of old books and their yellowed pages, enjoying the warmth of the Archive. Then she sat up again, shut the book gently and stared off into the ether.

“Maybe both,” she said to herself. “Maybe _both_ …”

 

α

 

Ruby did not take the train, nor did she seek out a cab. Instead she decided to walk her way through the megalithic city of Constance, letting her mind to wander as her feet carried her along.

It wasn’t rainy this day but the sky was still overcast from the previous. In the early spring chill, this meant quite a bit of biting cold. Such did not faze Ruby Rose, however, as thoughts of Weiss and their evening ahead—when they popped into her mind’s eye—warmed her considerably. Demon’s Souls and an evening of sharing its tribulations, even if only simulated. And either before or after, a meal together which would surely call for talk. Yes, talk; something so simple yet so very enjoyable…

So she paced along, step after step over sidewalks and foot-roads. Boots clicking and thumping on concrete and cobblestone. Her cloak, worn this day for the slight chill, billowed lazily behind her, whipping and tousling as it played with the breeze. Occasionally she would stop and listen to a bird chirping away or a squirrel barking in a nearby tree. When she reached the Arboretum—some four miles off from the MTU, at the border of Third Plaza where the mainstay shopping areas lay—Ruby even took the time to saunter off into the massive garden.

It wasn’t like Memorial Park where the statue of Weiss’s grandfather stood watch over his University City. There the grass was well kempt and maintained, cut close and uniform to be pleasing to discerning eyes. The trees were lined just properly and what flowers there were lay arranged in tightly uniform beds, oft surrounding statues or other memorials. In the Arboretum it was different, like a small Eden unto itself. Trees and flowers, bushes and brush, small fields and even an open savanna of a miniscule scale were left to grow wild, maintained at all only at the borders.

Ruby stepped in and stopped, looking at her watch. It was only a hair past sixteen-fifteen, so she decided a bit of time wandering would be both doable as well as do her some good. A bit of time to relax. To stop and smell the flowers—quite literally in this case.

She did exactly such, pulling up her cloak’s hood and beginning to take small steps over the wild grass. Before long she came across a patch of flowers—a mishmash of so many kinds, it looked almost out of place—and bent to smell some forget-me-nots. As she did, a small butterfly lit on a nearby sunflower, picking at the center with its hair-like tongue and fluttering its bright blue-grey wings.

“Amazing, isn’t nature?”

Ruby spun around on the distinctly masculine voice, more than a little spooked. What she saw was a very odd fellow dressed like a Vacuan gunslinger from some old spaghetti-western. Atop his head was a wide-brimmed rancher’s hat, from beneath which two emerald-green eyes gleamed. His nose, dusted with freckles to the cheekbones, wrinkled slightly as he too bent to sniff a flower. A strange one she didn’t recognize, gangly and deep violet. Then he stood again, reaching surely seven feet at straight posture, and met Ruby’s silver gaze.

“Sorry,” said he. “Did I startle you?”

“A bit,” Ruby admitted, relaxing somewhat as she remembered him. “Mister Scholar, right?”

The odd fellow nodded his head.

“I like to come here on occasion, contemplate the world a bit,” he went on. “It’s nice to see a student doing the same. Prithee, forgive me my imprudent greeting—I got ahead of myself. So many that attend the university act like they have not the time to spare for this place. Always so busy, always so preoccupied, always so…”

“Too frantic to stop and smell the flowers?” Ruby offered.

“Yes.” The man smiled, barked a short laugh. “Exactly like that. No time to smell the flowers.”

“It really is a shame…” Ruby turned away from him, looked at the mishmash flowerbed. “I’d almost like to take one. Guess that’d be rude though, huh?”

“Why would it be rude?” asked the man. “Furthermore, why would you want to take any? Don’t think me sentimental, but why kill such beauty for only temporary ownership?”

At that, Ruby had to actually think. She opened her mouth to respond twice, each time shutting it again with nothing to say. It was a good question. Strange yes, and certainly catching her flat-footed, but a good question nonetheless.

“I guess…” she muttered at last. “I guess, I’d just like to have one. Not for me, but for someone else.”

The strange man crossed his arms and shifted, his long-coat crackling a bit at the movement.

“Someone special?”

“Yes,” answered Ruby, sounding dreamy. “Someone _very special_ to me.”

She turned away from the flowerbed and approached a nearby oak, whose trunk was easily thick as her height and tall as a decently-sized building. The canopy up top blocked out nigh-all of what little sunlight managed to pierce the overcast sky. She looked up at it, watched the little pinpricks of light ( _stardust_ ) dancing in the slight breeze. The man considered her, noted the frowning of her features as Ruby seemed to become lost in herself.

“Ruby Rose, wasn’t it?” he asked after perhaps a minute of silence.

“Yeah,” she answered, still dreamy.

“Prithee tell, what consternates thee so?”

It took a moment to process, that strange man’s question. Posed in a dialect Ruby had not heard spoken before, only read, the words had trouble sinking in. When they did, she turned back to him, her eyes meeting his and becoming lost in the emerald glow.

_‘Glow?’_ she wondered. _‘They… glow?’_

“It’s…” she mumbled, touching her forehead lightly. “Well, my girlfriend, she’s going through a lot I think. Much more than she’s telling me. I’m worried about her. I want to help her, work through it with her, but I’m not sure I can…”

Ruby’s head swam as she looked at those glowing emeralds beneath the rancher’s hat. When the man smiled her heart thudded and skipped two beats. Her breath caught in her throat and the flesh of her shoulders prickled with goosebumps.

_‘Why did I say that?’_ she asked herself. _‘It’s supposed to be a secret, so why did I say that?!’_

“Thou lookest alarmed,” said the man, smiling serenely at her. “Hath I upset thee, fair Rose?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m fine, really, just a bit dizzy. I think…”

She touched her forehead again, wondering at the warmth throbbing behind it. Tried to look away from the shining emeralds beneath the man’s hat. Yet, try as she might, Ruby could no more look away than she could will night to day. Her silver gaze was stuck much as an insect in amber.

“I believe,” said the man, turning away, “Miss Schnee would like _that_ flower best. And perhaps one of those, also.”

He pointed to two in particular, a stalk of monkshood and a bright-pink lily. Ruby followed his pointing finger. The flowers, paired together, did indeed look gorgeous. She was quite sure Weiss would like them.

It occurred to her not that she hadn’t mentioned her girlfriend by name.

“Thanks,” she said. Ruby walked to the flower bed and picked the top two inches off a monkshood before snapping off a lily. “You’ve got a good eye. Are you a botanist too, Mister Scholar?”

“No, just a man of many talents. Or perhaps I should say _interests_.” He turned to her, shallowly tipped his hat. “Now, might I enquire what worries you so about her? What has your girlfriend embroiled herself in?”

Ruby sniffed the lily before saying, “There’s this dance Friday. She told me she doesn’t want to go, but I think there’s more to it than that…”

“She doesn’t want to chance being found out,” the man proposed.

“Yeah. But it’s more than that even, I’m sure. I think it’s also that, well… maybe she’s just tired of high society?”

“Or maybe she’s sick of being around all these blowhards that think they know what’s what?”

Ruby giggled, looked back at the man. The breeze picked up a little and began to play with his hair, casting it like a miniature cape out behind him. Something about the sight set her skin to flush, her heart to beating faster, and her breathing erratic. She wasn’t alarmed by this though, caught up so in the emerald jewels beneath his hat.

“Love’s pretty fucked up,” said the man, turning away. The wind continued to play with his coal-black hair. “Draws us into these traps, see? Makes us act all funny, screw up ourselves, stop being who we are. Really nuggles the noggin.”

“Nuggles?” parroted Ruby.

“Sorry.” The man laughed. “Meant confuses, I s’pose.”

“Mm…”

She sniffed the lily again. And the monkshood after. Then she cast her gaze over the Arboretum, taking in what she could see. The playful breeze swept across the tiny savanna just beyond the tree line, made it look as a roiling green ocean. She stared, her heartbeat picking up further. Sweat began to prick at her skin. A flush crept through her cheeks.

“Perhaps…” said the man, starting to walk away. “Yes, perhaps t’would be good if the two of you shared a dance, but one of thy own making and chosen location? Hearts embroiled so would do well to heed one another. Yes, I think so…”

When he said this, a brief image played through Ruby’s head. A starlit sky, the soft drone of stringed instruments and other orchestral sorts milling behind them from inside a large, empty place. A _familiar_ place. The warmth of Weiss, held in her arms, pressed against her as they danced a sleepy waltz. A slight scent of fruity alcohol, faint traces of sawdust and something else. Flowers? Perfume? Paint? The moon, out in full bloom in all its shattered glory, gazing down on them. Painting both the fine silver of its muted, reflected sunlight.

“Thanks,” said Ruby, addressing the strange man. “I think that’s just…”

She turned to look at him and saw she was alone. Looking all around—turning this way and that, peering through the trees and bushes and brush, glancing over top of the many flowerbeds—she caught no glimpse of the odd fellow. No sign of his long-coat, no simple glance of his wide-brimmed hat, no trace whatsoever.

But rather than alarm, Ruby’s heart felt at ease. What’s more, she now knew what she should do. Could do and _would_ do. Thanks to that strange man, whose name she still did not know. Whose dialect was more akin to an olden playwright than any living person she’d met before. Whose eyes shined like enchanted emeralds beneath his wide, black hat.

Ruby sighed, stuck the flowers in the neckline of her cloak and fished her scroll from her pocket. It was seventeen-hundred now, as she saw, so she sent two messages rather than just the one. The first was to Weiss, asking her to come at eight instead of seven.

The second…

 

ϴ

 

“I’m going to have to start charging you for these meetings, Ruby.”

“Sorry, really I am. And also for what I’m about to ask…”

“If you’re so sorry to ask, then why would you at all?”

Ruby looked up from her folded hands, meeting Mahogany’s deep-brown eyes. They were nearly too dark to discern in the dim lighting of the Siren’s Call. They did reflect just enough of the powerful stage lights though, sparkling a tad as they met her silver gaze in turn. The oak of a man smiled wide, indicating he either spoke in jest or friendly sarcasm.

“Try to be a little more confident in yourself,” he went on, shifting in the booth chair. “If you’ve got a question to ask, don’t be sorry for it; if you have a favor to request, be sure before you ask it.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” Ruby admitted. “Thanks for seeing me either way.”

“It’s no problem, I’m sure. Now, ask your question or favor. There’s still work I have to oversee and those damn-lazy contractors are like to slack off if I leave them to it alone.”

“Actually, that’s part of it.” Ruby reached for her glass of water, took a sip to settle herself. “How much of the renovation is done?”

Mahogany leaned back and scratched his stubbly chin, gazed at the dark ceiling. Off somewhere in the back of the club, a saw spun up and began its loud whine as it cut through sheetrock. Or maybe it was wood. Whichever, it lasted only ten seconds (if that even) before it was silenced just as suddenly.

“I’d say the kitchen is probably all that’s left unusable,” said Mahogany at last. “Everything else is ready to run. The stage needs a few hours for that coat of paint to dry, but if I were to open tonight I could run things just fine. No food, but not many come to a strip club for the cuisine anyway.”

“You actually offer some good choices here,” Ruby commented absently.

“Be that as it may…” Mahogany sat up, went through the ritual of preparing a smokable and took a drag. “My point stands. The joint’s ready to run, minus any food. Why do you ask?”

As he spoke, smoke drifted menacingly from his nose and mouth. It looked as though a fire were stoked somewhere in his throat.

“Well, I’m wondering…”

Ruby stopped, looked away. Her heart was racing mad, feeling as though it might come to a stop so frantic was the pace. But the image of that odd man in his odd getup—as though he belonged out in the untamed badlands, wrangling up rustlers and outlaws—played through her mind, unbidden. Their talk, remembered in full detail, settled her.

“I’d like to borrow the club,” said Ruby, looking back up to meet Mahogany’s now-shocked stare.

“I beg your pardon?”

She thought about it a moment, then asked, “Would you let me have the use of the Siren’s Call tomorrow evening? Just me and one other?”

“What, exactly, are you wanting it for?” Mahogany pressed. He leaned forward and took another deep drag of his cigar, now thoroughly interested.

Ruby took a very deep breath, swelling her bosom and gathering her courage, and said…

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss looked herself over, head to toe, in the full-body mirror situated at the corner of her room. She checked each and every last detail of her attire with meticulous attention. Any stray fold or errant ruffle was mercilessly smoothed out; each wayward strand of hair on her head was ruthlessly put in place before being run over with an ivory brush. She straightened perfectly the thin straps lying over her delicate shoulders, adjusted the v-line of her dress to impeccable symmetry. Her makeup, which had taken well over an hour to so carefully apply, received several touch-ups and slight adjustments.

The heiress then looked at the clock on her desk. Seventeen-hundred it flashed, bright and obnoxious. Seeing it and knowing the time drew close, her heart picked up the pace a bit more. Her flesh began to tingle with the rush of blood and her head started to swim with anxiety.

“Damn it…” she muttered to herself, turning back to the mirror. “No idea why I’m even doing this… _Why am I_ even doing this?!”

There was that impulse to hit the mirror again. A sudden, violent urge to shatter it and listen to the tinkle of the glass. Oh, how wonderful that would have felt, she thought. Especially given that, contrary to her wishes, the previous night had yielded no relief to her worries. If she could just shatter that lovely image of the good heiress Schnee staring back at her from behind the glass…

But with a dejected, defeated sigh, Weiss relinquished the thought and starved out the urge. She gave one last, thorough look-over and huffed in approval. Then she turned away and approached her desk, picked up her scroll and stared at it for a moment. Friday, seventeen-ten, it read. She swiped her pointer across the screen and was surprised to see a message indicator occupying the unlocked menu.

The heiress opened and read it, her heart racing ever faster as she did.

 

Λ

 

_If you still don’t want to go to the dance, send me a text. I think I have something in mind you’d enjoy a lot better. -Ruby_

Quickly, she ticked out her reply, standing before her door.

_I’m all ears._

A moment later, perhaps even a minute…

_Then take the train over to my place. Oh, and would you let Winter know we won’t be there? She kinda scares me._

The heiress did indeed send Winter the word. That text, however, was terribly misspelled and awfully punctuated, having been sent with a bouncing hand and shaking thumb as Weiss all but ran to the MTU cradle. Her heart felt ready to burst from her chest the whole way.

And quite unsurprisingly, she forgot all about the concern of keeping her outfit prim and proper.

 

Ђ

 

It was seventeen-fifty when Weiss arrived at Ruby’s apartment. Though she’d not been as careful of her appearance on the way, she still looked more than presentable for a meeting of royalty or top-class executives. Even still, the heiress took a moment to calm herself and smooth out her hair before knocking.

Ruby heard the knock and opened the door almost immediately. She too was quite excited, quite nervous, and had been standing by the short hallway leading to her door. Waiting for Weiss to arrive. Listening for that knock that would knell the commencement of her brilliant—albeit hastily cobbled together—plan for the evening.

“Oh _gosh_ , Weiss…” Ruby whispered on seeing her girlfriend in the doorway. “You look amazing!”

The heiress blushed a deep scarlet and looked down to her feet.

“Thank you,” she managed. Then, on looking up, she said, “You look very lovely yourself.”

Both wore evening gowns that seemed less suited to a school function and more appropriate for presentation before a king. Each looked over the other for some time, taking in every last detail their eyes possibly could, lost in the moment stretching out before them.

Weiss’s was a slim, sleek model that clung tightly to her body from collar to hip. In the front it was but a single, smooth surface of fine cerulean hue, sporting a v-line that began just below her navel and tapered gradually upward until they became two thin straps that draped over her shoulders. These met behind her neck and made a sort of necklace that held the material up, leaving her back entirely exposed to view. This she remedied with a violet shawl held loosely to herself, somewhat obscuring the exposed, snowy flesh from sight. From the hip down, the dress bloomed out into a sort of wine flute shape, still remaining somewhat slim to her form with a goodly number of ruffles.

Ruby’s was a similar model with a looser design, the deepest obsidian-black one could imagine. It covered her both back and front down to the hip, ending mid-neck in a sort of collar that sported a tourmaline pendant. Only one distinct spot there was on the front where her alabaster flesh peeked through. There, from just above the navel to just below her collarbone, the dress was split in the shape of a long, slender diamond. Below the hip the dress was opened on one side, starting perhaps five inches down her thigh, to create an almost Mistrali look. The hem ended right around the middle of her calf.

When her mind came back to her somewhat, the heiress noted it was a very familiar piece. Why, however, she couldn’t quite grasp at that moment. Far too gone in the beauty of her love standing before her.

“I know we’re a thing,” said Ruby sheepishly, “but if you could not stare _too much_ , I’d really appreciate it…”

Weiss looked up—having realized where her eyes had crawled to—and swiftly apologized. Ruby assured her it was no issue whatsoever, laughing it off.

“Anyway,” Ruby went on, “why don’t we get going? Oh, but before we do…” She turned around and headed into the apartment. When she came back, she held out a soft, black strip of cloth to the heiress. “I _really_ hope you won’t get weirded out, but can you put this on until we get there? I’d like to surprise you, if I can, with our… destination.”

The heiress looked at the cloth in Ruby’s hands for a moment. Then it dawned on her what it was, and what it was for. Slowly—and yea, a bit anxiously—she reached out for the blindfold and took it.

“Can it wait until we get to the train?” Weiss asked.

Ruby nodded.

“Alright then, I guess I’ll humor you. But it better be good if _this_ is necessary…”

“Oh, I think it will be,” said Ruby with a wide, loving smile.

Weiss briefly wondered what in blue blazes she was doing, right then and there. Skipping out on an SDC-sponsored event like this. Eloping with her girlfriend to who-knows-where, in dresses fit for an outing with the elite’s elite. Most of all, having to wear a _blindfold_ of all damned things…

But in the end, as they left Ruby’s apartment, Weiss decided she didn’t care.

She was happy.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss Schnee, heiress apparent of the Schnee Dust Company, had never been a particularly vulnerable person. At least, not since she became an adult and finally left the manor of her father. Once she was out from under his shadow—in the physical sense—the little bit of vulnerability there had been in her life finally left her.

So she thought.

Hardly an entire year ago now, she had begun attendance at the MTU. Had moved to the city of Constance and once more picked up a rather taboo habit developed in her first year of college. Had met Ruby Rose and embroiled herself in life-changing, upending events that culminated in this.

There she sat, on the lightly bouncing, gently swaying train. She could feel Ruby’s heat beside her, flesh pressing close and nigh-uninhibited against her left arm. What little resistance their dresses did offer was pitiable at best, so thin were the fabrics. But even that human heat and contact was not enough; the heiress was presently a nervous wreck.

She could see absolutely nothing. All that was left to her was sound, touch, and scent.

She smelled the soft lilac and strawberry of Ruby’s perfume. She felt the radiant heat and softness of Ruby against her arm. She heard the audible drum of both their hearts, though her own was the louder by far to her burning ears.

But there was no sight. Not even the faintest pinprick of light made it through the blackness of the fabric blindfold. It covered her eyes from cheekbones to mid-brow, blocking out every last mote of vision, and for the first time in a very long while…

Weiss felt vulnerable. It set her heart racing so mad, she was sure it would still at any moment. It lit her blood aflame and swelled her lungs with tingling, ragged breath. It put her mind to chasing a myriad of thoughts, all of which concerned how the situation could possibly end—from most heinously scandalous to most innocently mundane.

“We’re almost there,” said Ruby, and Weiss’s flesh prickled and crawled. “I hope you’ll be impressed.”

The heiress, too, hoped she would be.

A goodly time passed in this manner. Weiss even began to fear she might visibly perspire, so hot was her flesh growing. But, as all things, the tribulation eventually ended. She had no idea how long the train ride had lasted but was duly grateful when, at last, Ruby spoke up again. Her voice was more than a bit calming.

“Here, stand up,” said the vixen, and Weiss could feel her arm being pulled lightly. She stood with the pull and heard Ruby saying, “I’ll guide you, just try to relax, ok? It’s not too far from the station.”

She shook a bit, say true, but heeded her girlfriend all the same. Step by step they went, down a flight of stairs and onto concrete. Hand in hand they strolled along, slowly, Ruby guiding the blinded heiress with a careful pace. Weiss could hear the sound of a few passing cars but not much else. Wherever they were it was surely all but deserted. This she felt sure of given that—even being the city of Constance—the soft howl of the wind could be heard cutting its way between the surrounding buildings.

Then, she heard the faint babble of a water fixture. Perhaps a fountain? Or a small waterfall? And she began to smell the scent of palms and sand, an earthy flavor that hung low to the ground below and tasted of the desert. Desert…

_‘Wait,’_ thought the heiress. _‘Did she really?!’_

But she tried to push the budding realization from her mind, not wanting to spoil the surprise. It did tax her heart a bit further, but Weiss managed mostly to ignore it.

On they went, traversing now onto softer ground. Carpeted by the feel of it. Judging also by the change in the acoustics, she assumed they had gone inside somewhere. Unlike before, however, the place (she assumed they were) did not smell quite like it should. There was a faint hint of dried paint and sawdust hanging about. Not much, but enough to notice.

Still she followed, pulled lightly along by Ruby, for perhaps another twelve paces. It was then, at last, that they stopped and Ruby again spoke.

“Ok,” said she. “You can take off the blindfold.”

Weiss heard Ruby prance away a few steps, felt her heat leave her side. With hands shaking miserably, she reached for the knot at the back of her head. Tried to undo the fabric blind. It took her a few confounding attempts before her fingers managed to work the binding loose. As it peeled from her face and sight came slowly back, the heiress had to muster every bit of herself not to gasp in shock.

It was better than she could have possibly imagined.

 

α

 

Only a moment there was, but it was all she needed.

“Ok,” Ruby said, trying not to let her voice quaver. “You can take the blindfold off.”

She immediately took a few, long steps away. Almost pranced like a deer in all honesty. To a nearby table, where a most familiar object lay. Ruby took it up in her shaking grip and turned it over, placing it gently against her face the next moment and securing the straps in place. She cast a glance over her shoulder. Weiss was still undoing the blindfold knot (aye, she had tied it well) and so, the raven-headed vixen bounded back to her girlfriend.

Until she stood just before her, watching her close and intently as the blindfold was taken from its perch.

Weiss nearly began to cry.

 

Ђ

 

The heiress looked around. And tried miserably—unsuccessfully—to hold back some few, shocked tears.

It was the Siren’s Call alright, much as she had guessed. Those were indeed the palm trees of the place she had smelled before entering. That was definitely the trademark sandy front which flavored the air outside akin to a desert. Yet, it also _was not_ the Siren’s Call she remembered. Many of the decorations had been removed, and many more were so changed as to be almost unrecognizable.

Tables and chairs and even the booths had been replaced with newer, nicer versions in the recent season’s style. The carpet had been fully removed and replaced with a brand-new model, now burgundy and with nearly the give-to-step of foam. The stage, when she looked to it, had seen its three centerpiece poles re-chromed and like as not shined. They were now almost a mirror polish. The surface of the stage, too, had been redone entirely with both fresh boards and a new coat of stark-white paint. When she looked over at the bar, Weiss saw it was now an entirely different design that stretched in a U-shape. Looked better than the straight-line by far, and could certainly hold many more customers at once.

The logistics, however, registered not one whit. For when she turned back toward Ruby, resting her icy-blues on the raven-headed vixen, her jaw all but hit the floor and her mind released every bit of thought.

There she stood, that wondrous _Rose_ , sporting the mask Weiss remembered so vividly. And now that she saw the mask paired with it, she recognized the dress too. It was the same she had first seen her in. Only black this time rather than teal.

“I hope you won’t mind, Miss Schnee,” said Ruby, feeling her flesh try its best to ignite, “but Chrysanthemum won’t be performing tonight. _I_ , however, would be more than happy to dance with you…”

The heiress tried to say something. All that came out was a weak, wheezing stutter. Ruby giggled at that and bowed, then held out her hand.

“Would that be alright, Miss Schnee?”

Weiss only nodded this time, emphatically and with much gusto, before reaching out to accept that offered hand. It was so very warm in hers, shaking awfully but gripping her own with a firm resolve. The resolve of a lover true, one might say, to offer succor and comfort in a time of need. As was the present time for the heiress, though in truth…

She forgot why at that very moment.

 

Λ

 

For four long hours, they caroused and danced in the empty Siren’s Call. Empty, that is, save for the one man in the back office, snoring away the wee hours with an old book draped over his nose.

Ruby took the lead for the first few numbers, surprising Weiss with her unexpectedly vast knowledge of different dances. The first they went about in silence hearing only the nervous breathing and racing hearts of one another. After that, an orchestral number (soft initially, louder quickly thereafter) began to drone from above. Coming from the new speakers it sounded wonderful beyond words. Matched the gradually increasing pace of their waltz.

Maybe half an hour passed before the heiress took the lead, turning their none-too-energetic waltz into a much more frantic tango. They twirled and swirled about each other, feet stepping and prancing to the rising tempo of the orchestra, faces beaming elation and eyes glowing in the dim lighting. Their dresses wove a whirlpool of fabric grace as they turned about.

Ruby could hardly contain herself. Weiss saw no reason to try and gave in to her enjoyment.

So it went for the first hour. When that passed, they broke away—the orchestral numbers continuing—for a rest at the new bar.

“I paid ahead, so just tell me what you’d like,” said Ruby with a wide, gleaming grin.

“How about a dry gin then?” answered the heiress.

This Ruby poured, and for herself she made a quick boilermaker. They shared no talk, only downed their drinks and sighed at the fire it traced to their bellies. Then, with shared grins, they went right back to it. Out onto the floor, hand-in-hand and other-on-hip. Twirling and swirling, swaying and playing to the orchestral bolero that now all but blared from the new speakers.

Eventually, around the half-way of the third hour, their revelry brought them onto the newly-installed patio at the northern end. A swathe of moonlight cut the blackened marble with silver beneath their feet, and an infinite spackling of stars twinkled to the tune of their hearts. It was colder now and rain had begun to drizzle, but neither paid this any mind. This was an evening to enjoy to its fullest. Both felt so, yes and more, and did duly act so.

Yet, just as all things, even this time of great companionship ended. The orchestral track Ruby picked for the occasion eventually drew to a rousing crescendo somewhere around the start of the fourth hour. Given for energy and spent from their revelry, the Roses swelled their last tango to its zenith and parted.

On the far end of the open-air patio they stood, turned toward one another, staring each other down with the wild eyes of those who have just experienced the time of their lives thus far. Rain poured openly on them, biting cold and growing harsher with each passing minute. They were soaked through and through by then; their dresses clung even tighter to them and their hair, undone from the stylings, lay in dripping dishevelment. Ruby sniffled. Weiss turned her head and sneezed lightly.

“My _god_ , Ruby,” the heiress stuttered between gasps of breath. “That _was_ good. Like… _really_ good.”

“I’m glad you liked the surprise,” answered Ruby, between her own gasps for air. “Four hours, though? And I thought _I_ had good stamina…”

Weiss laughed, said, “You say that as if we were—”

The heiress stopped herself before finishing, clapping one hand over her mouth and blushing blood-red from head to toe. Her raven-headed love only laughed at this, mirthful and earnestly tickled. Weiss looked away, bashful and quite aware of herself. _Painfully_ aware of herself…

“You’re a great dancer, Weiss,” said Ruby, stifling more laughter and hoping to change the subject.

“Thanks,” answered the heiress, still looking away.

“Well, was this better than the high-society you’re used to?”

At _that_ , Weiss looked up at Ruby. Their eyes met and locked. The heiress began to cross the patio, her heels tapping a gentle melody that went unheard to either as she closed the distance. Until she stood no more than a foot from her love. Close enough to reach out, which she did. Close enough to embrace, which she did also. And once embraced…

Close enough to kiss vivaciously, _and lo_ , how she did indeed.


	5. The Stone Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of updates. Honestly, I nearly forgot about this site. Since the last chapter, my uncle died and grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. I don't want anyone's well-wishes (though I appreciate, mind), just want you all to know what kept me. The words have been hard to come by. But I'm still after it. I will tell this tale to the end and I hope you all enjoy the ride, Dearest Readers.  
> But without further ado, I give you the next chapter of Red Rose, RedRum...

Chapter 4

The Stone Age

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss opened her eyes to a pulsing dark. The room was cold. Rain pattered sleepily, dreamy, against the lone window. As she watched the pulsing pitch, a flash of lightning lit the night from behind her curtain. It cut a stark, hollow light into the black, followed quickly by the harsh boom of thunder. It rocked her ribcage and she knew it must have been a close strike. But that hardly mattered.

Her icy eyes regarded the room, her mind soft and swimming—not just as one who has awakened from a deep dream, but almost like a drunkard trying to get the last out of a liter bottle down. She intended to do something but couldn’t quite recall what. On her tongue lay the taste of cool, crisp, earthy air from a savannah she had never truly visited. On her skin coursed the heat of seven suns crowning an endless expanse of blue sky.

She meant to do something but could not remember. Then, it came to her.

A rush of urgency as muscles beneath her stomach clenched, fighting to restrain nature. Weiss clutched the bottom of her belly and moaned, quiet and pained, before quitting her covers. She crossed the room with a tipsy gait, almost knocking over her study chair on the way. Couldn’t recall putting it there in the middle of the room, but that thought came nowhere near the surface. All she could concentrate on was the need to reach that little room some few feet away. So, she pushed.

Lightning flashed again, and the thunder followed without delay. The heiress’s dorm-room lit a hollow white, her ribcage rattled again by that monstrous natural bass. It was all she could do not to wet herself in the split second before the bathroom door whooshed up into its frame, the lights popping on automatically as she rushed in.

Relief finally lay in sight, the only thing on her mind. But when the heiress reached the toilet, what came was not what her mind had promised.

Heat raged across her skin and the room felt deathly cold. Standing there, swaying uneasy, Weiss realized she was covered in a goodly sheen of sweat, her gown glued to her flesh. The bright fluorescents of the bathroom stung her eyes. Turning to the mirror, she saw those eyes—icy-blue jewels that they were—looked almost bloody with shoots of red.

No thought at all in her mind, the heiress turned from the mirror and leaned over the toilet, then puked for all she was worth.

 

α

 

Ruby woke up the next morning around eight, maybe a hair past. She felt rather good, truth be told. After the night of dancing and carousing she’d had with Weiss, and that subsequent walk in the pouring rain, she was quite surprised not to be ill. Forget about feeling _good_ , yeah? But she did, and that was nice. Her legs only ached in the reassuring manner of a post-workout. Her stomach ached too, but that was more akin to the day after seeing a comedy show—when laughing and such had all but left wrinkles on one’s face.

And oh, how her heart _soared_ to the bright day gleaming through her window.

All of it was burnt into her mind; every sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch were filed away in the vault. The way Weiss had smiled all evening. The way they had danced until neither could breathe. The air of intimacy that opened up and revealed itself to them, as the songs played and the lights flashed, as their bodies twirled and twisted in time with one another. Most of all perhaps, there was that beautiful glint in Weiss’s eyes she had seen nigh the entire evening. Like some inner, innocent part of her had at last been given a breath of air after years of suffocation.

Ruby had only seen that glint once before, and it was so short-lived she had thought it a hallucination; it was when they first began to get serious with their studies (or maybe _hers_ , to be precise) and the heiress had had a chance to show her true, determined, unrelenting self.

She was so damn close to bursting with joy, Ruby couldn’t help but hum to as she got ready. Once her clothes were changed, nature answered to, and her breakfast down, she even began to sing while getting her things together. Nothing loud or boisterous, just a soft tune unconsciously expressing her inner self.

Weiss had suggested it, and Ruby could hardly believe that. The idea they take a portion of their year-end break and spend it in the same place was something she would never have expected from the heiress. Not from someone so serious and reserved as she, oh no, even if they were a couple now. But there it was. Bring her games and system, and a movie or two. Pack a couple changes of clothes. No need to fret, she has her own laundry machine and dryer. Where to sleep? Well, the heiress had said she would take the couch, and Ruby had given up on saying otherwise (though, not on doing otherwise). What if people talk? Ah, well, there’s the tests to take at next year’s start—so what if they get a jump on studying?

Ruby wondered if Weiss had thought it all out beforehand. She wondered if it hadn’t been something planned, carefully orchestrated in the heiress’s head. Surely, she wouldn’t simply think up something like that out of the blue… right?

She left her apartment just after ten thinking about these things. Over her right shoulder lay the strap of a sensibly sized bag, within which was her console and a couple select titles. Over the other was the thick, heavy-duty strap of her old overnight—a leather monstrosity handed down from her father that looked more akin to a gunna bag. She didn’t have _all_ of her worldly possessions in it, but certainly enough to warrant the care in transit. All set and ready, don’t you doubt. _Even if_ it felt like her heart would stop at any moment.

On the train ride, Ruby wondered just why she was so giddy. Furthermore, she wondered why staying over with her girlfriend—and let us not get started on how that small, tender word tickled her mind—was simultaneously exciting and jarring, at once both nerve-racking and soothing. She disembarked at the MTU cradle with ponderings about the implications of this stayover swirling through her head. She walked the mile to the dorm trying to decide how friendly she should or should not be.

Going down the long hallway to Weiss’s door, Ruby wondered if flirting might be proper or not…

 

Ͼ

 

When Weiss finally came to it was just beginning to get lighter outside. She, of course, knew this not. To her the only light remained the harsh, buzzing glow of the fluorescent bar over her mirror. As it thrummed and hummed, so too did her head. The light cut a dizzyingly bright, red-hot swath through her skull and all at once she could not hold back. The next five minutes were spent retching, followed shortly by almost passing out again.

But Weiss held on, somehow. Just enough that, when the retches finally ceased, she was able to drag herself to the sink and wash up a bit. Once she had cleaned the worst of it, she then dragged her aching body back to the soft comfort of her bed, only to find the cold covers as fire to her blazing flesh. Weiss would not be dissuaded, however—she was tired and her every fiber ached, so come hell or high water she would get a little more rest. Not hugging a toilet bowl, that is.

Hissing through her teeth, the heiress laid herself out as comfortably as she could manage, pulled the covers to her nose and shut her eyes. The world swam. The bed pitched and yawed like a ship in a squall. More than once she thought she would surely lose it again, all over the bed this time as there remained no gumption in her to move. Like it or not she was stuck there, under the covers, begging for sleep. She did not lose it, though. Call it willpower or effort, or maybe even dumb luck, but Weiss Schnee managed not to sick all over her bed.

And she called that a miracle, deep in the furthest recesses of her subconscious, as that begged-for sleep finally came.

The heiress slept for a while. No telling how long—she had neither the forethought nor the want to check her clock when she laid down, nor did she have any sense of time’s passage. All Weiss knew was that she slept, and all this witness can say is that it lasted not long enough. Her dreams were muddled to boot, and ferociously strange.

One moment she was in Atlas proper, walking the daylit streets of Mantle’s capital city, taking in the sights and sounds of a bustling metropolis. The next moment she stood at a beach, surveying the wide, nigh-endless expanse of green sea and blue sky that married into an incommunicably gorgeous horizon. After that she found herself in an empty place; a city, there was no doubt, but more akin to a graveyard than any lived-in place she could think of. Streets of solid gold stretched on in every direction. Buildings hewn in one piece from snow-white marble rose toward an orange sky (not from a setting sun, but simply _orange_ ) with busts of unearthly beautiful creatures decorating the sides. The busts almost looked human, but were simply too perfect to truly be so.

All the while, no matter where her dreams carried her, Weiss heard conversation. Now and again she could pick out a voice she knew, but far too seldom for her to keep up. They simply babbled and gabbled, tittered on about who-knows-what. Some were deep and baritone as foghorns, while others carried like the soprano grace of chimes. But she had no idea what they said, and that was just as well.

Weiss took herself a little exploratory venture along one of the golden roads in the graveyard city. Suddenly she heard her name, loud and clear and in the voice of one quite familiar. At first, it didn’t quite register to her. She heard it but did not. The same way a song becomes part of the background when one is concentrating. But then it came again, along with a faint other sound. Something hollow and hard, harsh and interruptive. A click? No, not quite. A thump? Closer, but still not getting any cigars…

_Knock-knock-knock_

_“Weiss? You there?”_

Her eyes focused on a particularly interesting bust that resembled her father eerily well. All along the face of it were deep cracks. These marked it apart from the others, making it the only one she had seen to not be absolutely flawless. Wondering, Weiss peeked around the bust to look at the placard on the building’s entrance. _‘Truth and Reconciliation’_ was carved into the obsidian placard. But no, that wasn’t quite it…

She looked a little closer, and the placard said, _‘Weiss, are you awake?’_ instead. That gave her pause. It also made her world begin to spin, her body begin to pitch and yaw like a ship in a squall…

And the heiress snapped awake.

 

Ђ

 

Ruby looked at the Cheshire face of her wristwatch. A quarter of eleven. She hadn’t arrived too early, now had she?

She knocked again and waited, then called out, “Weiss, are you awake?”

Nothing but silence. So much so, she could _hear_ the little Cheshire watch ticking. This unnerved her. She wasn’t quite sure why, but it did. Not exactly for the silence. No, she wasn’t quite sure why…

Then, Ruby picked out the faint sound of footsteps. Bare feet padding on cushy, thin carpet. She stepped back and adjusted the large leather bag that looked almost like a gunna. A minute passed. More silence. Ruby began to worry when she heard a switch flick, followed shortly by the heiress’s door opening. What she saw beyond the door caused her heart to sink.

It was Weiss, sure, but nearly a ghost of her. Clammy and pallid skin. Eyes sunken and ringed with purple, as though she’d spent the night boxing and gotten a few shiners for her trouble. Which is to say nothing of their bloodshot state; so many little runners of red ran through those icy jewels, Ruby almost couldn’t make out the blue. Then there was the gown that clung to her form, see-through with sweat…

“Oh jeez, are you okay?” Ruby asked, breathless, stepping into the room without invitation.

Weiss tottered a moment, then stepped aside.

“Do I look that bad?” she half wondered aloud, half asked.

“Yes! Why are you even standing?” Ruby dropped her bags and stepped to within inches of the heiress’s face. “Here, hold still. Let me feel your forehead.”

Without waiting for an answer, or any sort of consent, Ruby brushed the matted locks away. She pressed her forehead to Weiss’s, shut her eyes and counted silently. The heiress—still mostly out of it, still somewhere between dreaming and delirious wakefulness—could only utter a slight, weak groan as Ruby counted for what seemed forever. Her legs were wobbling and rubbery when Ruby finally pulled away.

“You’ve got one hell of a fever there, Weiss,” she said, her eyes deeply concerned.

Weiss thought to say that was obvious, but decided against it. Instead she shrugged her shoulders and started back for the bed. She settled herself in as well as she could and turned to face Ruby, covers pulled to her chin.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I guess this cancels our little hang out.”

Ruby looked at her for a moment, then said, “Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?” Weiss cocked an eyebrow, grimaced thin. “I’m in no condition to have a guest, no matter how much I’d like _that guest_ to be here. Besides, you might catch whatever I’ve got.”

“So?” Ruby asked, her eyes afire.

“So?” The heiress scoffed. “So, since I don’t want you to get sick, can’t entertain like a proper host, and can take care of myself, there’s no reason for you to stay. I’m sorry, really, but this sort of thing can’t be helped…”

For a time, it looked as though Ruby might listen to her. She only stood there, still by the door, a thoughtful expression lighting her enchanting features. Weiss sank into a now-cherished memory of their time together—when Ruby had made her that promise beneath the moon, in the little copse of trees hidden away in her grandfather’s memorial park. There had been a light behind her features that night as well, one not sourced of the moon above. Weiss had admired her beauty then, too.

“You look very pretty when you’re thinking,” Weiss said, not fully aware of herself, “but, please, go on before you catch this. I don’t know what it is but it’s _horrible_ …”

Still, Ruby stood there, thinking whatever she was thinking. Weiss gave up trying to read her—her mind was a little too goopy for that by this point—and shut her eyes. She had nearly fallen asleep again when the rustle of Ruby’s bags brought her back.

“What are you doing?” the heiress asked. Irritation started to leak into her tone.

“Setting up the console,” Ruby answered. “Why, want me to grab you some water or something?”

Weiss sat up, grimaced at the pain this brought her.

“I told you to go,” she said. Maybe her tone was a bit too harsh, but she was growing impatient now. “We’ve got two weeks before the new year starts. There will be time for this after I get over whatever I’ve got.”

“I know,” Ruby said, getting back to her task. “But hey, humor me will ya? I’m worried about you and not too concerned about getting it. That fever felt pretty high. If it gets too bad, what then? What if you can’t get out of bed? What if you need something?”

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you.” And she meant it, too. “If it gets bad enough then I’ll go to the doctor. Until then, I can fetch my own water and get around myself.”

Ruby put down the wire in her hand and turned to Weiss. Her silver eyes _were_ glowing, the heiress was sure of it. Could have been the sun peeking through her window, but Weiss would swear that wasn’t the case.

“If I thought you had a cold or something, I wouldn’t be so insistent, Weiss, I swear. But you’ve got a _bad_ fever, and it hasn’t even been half a day since we were at the Siren’s Call. Now, unless you plan to drag me out of here and barricade the door, I’m staying at least a while to see that it doesn’t get worse.”

The heiress watched her girlfriend’s silver stare intently. Ruby, in turn, gazed back just as unmoving. It was quite brief, but a contest of wills did transpire. Glowing silver won out over bloodshot icy-blue in the end.

“Fine,” said Weiss with a huff. She laid down and covered up once more, pulling the bedding to her nose this time. Muffled, she said, “Don’t cry to me when you’re aching and sweating and puking your guts up too, okay?”

“It’s a deal,” Ruby said, then went back to hooking up the console.

Weiss fell asleep not long after. It was the last time she would be lucid for a while, and in the end, she would find herself quite grateful Ruby had come crashing into her life.

 

α

 

It started to rain again shortly before sundown. The storm blew in silently, a celestial ghost with gifts of cold downpour. The patter against Weiss’s window soothed Ruby as she finished setting her things up. She wondered, if only in passing, whether she had been rude or not. Simply barging her way in and refusing to make scarce of herself at Weiss’s request. Or order. She decided it didn’t matter, though. Her girlfriend was sick—by the look of her, tossing and turning, it would be a doozy for sure—and so, it didn’t matter if she had been a bit rude.

Ruby put out the last of her things atop her old overnight, then sat on the couch. The only sounds around her were the patter of the ghostly rain and the even breaths of the heiress. They were loud breaths pulled in hard due to her condition, but at least they were even. Ruby looked Weiss’s way. She had seen Yang like this once. Remembering that hurt a bit.

Suddenly, there was a loud, shrill chirp. Weiss stirred beneath the covers and Ruby bolted upright off the couch. She looked around a moment. Nothing. Weiss’s strained, even breathing and the patter of the rain returned, made that shrill chirp seem like an illusion. But just as she was about to sit down again, Ruby heard it once more and nearly fell over.

When she stood straight, she knew where it was. Quickly, she crossed to the heiress’s nightstand and looked around a moment before grabbing her scroll.

“Sorry, Weiss,” she muttered softly, then opened it.

There was no password or pin. A simple swipe after opening the device and Ruby stood there, staring at a picture of herself and the heiress. It was one taken aboard the ship bound for Vacuo. Just after the good news from Blake and set against the backdrop of an oceanic sunrise.

Ruby briefly found herself breathless. Then she remembered why she had picked up the device at all.

Snapping out of it, she checked the message log, only intending to look at those recently received. Before she could, however, the scroll rang and Ruby nearly dropped the thing in surprise. Her mind spun with thoughts of being caught doing a wrong thing.

But she saw the caller’s name, and answered without hesitation.

 

Λ

 

_“Weiss, ignoring me is one thing, but skipping out on a company function to go frolicking is wholly unacceptable! Do you have any idea what this will do to your image? Father is pissed, and I’m not sure if I can cover for you on this one. Are you listening to me, Weiss? Hello?”_

At first, Ruby couldn’t answer. Her tongue was tied, her throat fat and closed off. Or so it felt. But the moments ticked by and she was sure it would be worse if she _did not_ answer.

“Uh, hi Winter,” she said.

Silence first, far too much of it, then, _“Ruby Rose? Is that you?”_

“It is.”

She hoped that sounded less sheepish than it did to herself. Gosh, but she felt like an interloper at that very moment. An intruding snooper in a different world.

_“Where is Weiss?”_ Winter suddenly demanded. _“I need to speak with her posthaste. I’m sorry you heard all of that, but she has some explaining to do, and maybe even some bootlicking if I can’t calm our father down.”_

Ruby looked over at the heiress’s sleeping, fevered, hard-breathing form. Sweat lay in a thin sheet over her forehead. She made a mental note to grab a cold washcloth from the kitchenette after the call.

“She’s really sick right now, actually,” Ruby said at last.

_“Sick?”_ Winter sounded dubious. _“What in blazes did you two_ **do** _last night?”_

“We went for our own sort of dance.”

_“Is that so?”_

For some reason, the tone in Winter’s voice struck a chord in Ruby. It was not a wholly unfamiliar feeling, but it was one she neither welcomed nor much liked. A sort of indignation if you will, a burning at the very pit of her stomach like she had been wrongly scolded. If Weiss had been awake, she might have held her tongue—though, were that the case, she likely would not have been on the call at all.

“Look, Winter—”

_“That’s Miss Schnee to you,”_ Winter promptly interrupted. _“I am faculty here, please remember.”_

The chord broke with a whining twang.

“Look, _Winter_ ,” Ruby repeated, “I don’t know the history between you two, or your family, so I’m not going to act like I do. I won’t say what Weiss’s reasons were—I don’t know them either—but I will say she didn’t want to attend the _company function_. I saw it in her. So, _I_ offered something else, and she took my offer. If you’re going to get pissed at someone—you or her father—then let that be me, okay?”

She heard Winter suck in a breath, as though she were going to reply.

Ruby plowed right along, saying, “Right now, Weiss is really sick. I think she caught something in the rain last night, when we were coming back. I’ll tell her you called when I can. Goodbye.”

And with that, Ruby ended the call. The fog of indignation left her not long after, and she wondered if maybe she had stepped out of line again. She wondered, as she had on occasion of late, if this whole thing might be a mistake. On both their parts…

Ruby looked at Weiss. Her sleep was clearly wearisome, the slumber of the ill. She thought of how kind the heiress was, deep down, and how good was her heart when she let it show. The SDC reached far and wide, Ruby knew, and had both the means and the capacity to shape the world.

_‘If I don’t screw this up for her,’_ Ruby thought to herself.

 

Ђ

 

She did not forget the wet rag when she went into the kitchenette for water. She came back with two glasses, one for her and one for the heiress. It took some time, but she managed to wake Weiss long enough to drink.

“Was Winter here earlier?” Weiss asked. Her eyes looked toward Ruby but could not seem to focus.

“No,” said Ruby. “Don’t worry about any of that. You need rest for now.”

The heiress put a hand to her head. She knew a sick person could not well discern their own temperature, but that knowledge was lost in the encroaching fog of fever. It felt cool enough to her.

“I’m just fine,” she said, sitting upright to drain the glass. “No fever, just tired. Guess I was jumping to conclusions earlier.”

Ruby sat in the heiress’s study chair, pulled up close and beside the bed. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Weiss’s.

“No, your temp is definitely up. Here, I got you a rag to cool you down.”

Ruby sat up and held out the rag. Weiss only looked at it as if suspicious.

“I assure you,” she said, “I need no such thing. See?” Weiss stood wearily from her bed. “I’m just fine.”

And promptly fell over. Ruby caught her in the nick of time.

“You’re getting some rest if I have to strap you to the bed,” said Ruby.

But that little bit of effort had exhausted Weiss, and no sooner than she was laid back did she drift off toward slumber again. Ruby noted the now uneven rise and fall of her chest. It was only the end of the first day of it, but she could see this illness would be a doozy for sure.

“Maybe another couple of hours would do me good,” said Weiss dreamily.

“Yeah.” Ruby placed the wet rag over her forehead and eyes. “I think it will.”

 

α

 

Ruby’s mind became lost in wonderings and ponderings just before bed. She felt out of place. She felt improper. She felt intrusive, and all in all just rather bad.

The day had started well. Her trip over had been occupied with good thoughts on heartwarming things—a romantic couple days with Weiss, goofing off and playing games, watching movies and maybe even studying. Then this sickness, and that conversation with Winter, and…

She shook the thoughts from her mind, found herself in the kitchenette. Another glass of water while she’s there couldn’t hurt, she decided. As she fetched exactly such, Ruby noticed something rather pretty from the corner of her eye. _Two_ somethings, matter of fact, sitting in a delicate glass vase filled halfway with water.

The lily was a gorgeous, virginal pink, and the monkshood beside it a deep, enigmatic violet.

Small miracles happen in just such a way. We see a thing, or do a thing, or think of a thing (small and insignificant to the outside observer), and the small miracles simply happen. Ruby went, water in hand, to the bathroom to finish readying for sleep. And she felt better. A smile adorned her face, tiny and nearly translucent.

She went to sleep with that same smile, thinking she would have to thank Levi for his suggestion.

 

Ђ

 

On Sunday, Weiss was in and out. Ruby kept constant watch on her temperature. It never topped one hundred, so she held off drastic measures like the doctor. Rather, she kept a steady supply of water for her, and when meals came she put together whatever she could as a soup. Nourishing things, aye, but improvised and without recipe. She changed the rag over her head every time it felt even slightly off of cool. She helped the heiress to and from the bathroom.

For all of Sunday, Ruby was a living blessing to the heiress Schnee. Weiss did not realize this at the time, though. She was tired, thoroughly exhausted, and the fever, though not terribly high, raged throughout her. Delirium had set in quickly and stayed. For that entire day, she would only speak in broken, nigh-babbling fragments. A thanks here and there, or a lost question that had little place. She did manage to complement Ruby’s cooking, but this was more reflex than actual opinion—an old habit refusing to be muted even by illness.

Monday came and it was no better. Weiss’s fever climbed to a hair past one hundred and she dipped further into delirium. She talked more that day, but not in any sensible manner; she spoke to Ruby as if the two of them had been huntresses all their lives. Talked of Beacon Academy and pursuit of Grimm. Weiss even spoke as if to Yang once or twice, and it was then that Ruby most considered calling for professional help, worried the fever might run out of control.

“I hope Yang’s doing alright with that prosthetic arm,” was the last Weiss said to Ruby that day, before falling asleep and staying so.

Ruby worried profusely about this. She watched as the heiress breathed in rapid, erratic patterns, sweat soaking her clean through—even to the covers! Maybe it was the soup, or Ruby’s care and worry, or even just the hydration and nature, but the heiress eventually evened out toward dusk. Her breathing settled to a stable pattern and calmed. Ruby kept the rag cold and hoped for the best, deciding to put off that doctor call just a bit longer.

_‘No need to make it worse for her,’_ Ruby thought. _‘No need to give her dad or Winter something else to fuss about…’_

By Monday night, the small miracle of seeing those flowers she’d given Weiss had worn off. She was back to worrying again. Not only about her girlfriend’s health, but also about their relationship at all.

Tuesday came and went; Weiss’s condition neither worsened nor improved. So too did Wednesday come and go. By Thursday, Ruby decided she would cross another line.

Until then, she had managed to get Weiss awake and aware enough to sponge herself off of the sweat and such. Small cleanings here and there. When Thursday came, she found the heiress to be too weak for it herself. The days of bedrest and fever had taken their toll and all her energy was wrapped up in running the fight against whatever ailed her. In a daze, Weiss explained this to Ruby.

“Okay then,” Ruby said.

“I can take a bath when the fever breaks,” said Weiss in turn.

But Ruby, rather than answering or saying more, leaned over toward the heiress. She placed the freshly wetted rag over her forehead, slipped one arm beneath her back and the other beneath her knees, and lifted Weiss from the bed.

Her head was spinning, her mind swimming in uncharted waters, but the heiress became aware enough to understand what was going on. And with her face blushing beyond just the fever, she made no fuss. She only buried her head against Ruby and let herself be carried like a princess.

“If you’ll run the water then I can take care of the rest.”

“And what, just trust you won’t pass out or something?” Ruby sounded perturbed. “I said I was staying in case this _thing_ got bad. Well, _it’s bad_. So, I’m just keeping my word.”

When they entered the bathroom, Ruby set the heiress down—on a little bench placed just right between the tub and shower—and started the water. Then, to the heiress’s shock, she did not leave.

“Tell me now if this isn’t alright,” Ruby said, looking Weiss in the eye. “I know you’re not altogether there, but you need to tell me if this isn’t okay. _Okay?_ ”

Weiss’s mind went every direction it could, full steam ahead. From the most innocent of thoughts to the most scandalous of imaginings. She felt she would pass out for sure with the heat, not just in her cheeks but radiating throughout her as a dying star. Pulsing, crashing in waves, tumultuous…

Ruby watched her eyes carefully. She almost felt she could see the world of thoughts running behind them. This went on long enough for the tub to fill to point. Once it had, Ruby shut the water off and rummaged up some towels, then sat down beside Weiss.

“You’d go this far for me, huh?” the heiress mused aloud.

“ _You_ took _me_ across Remnant to see my sister,” said Ruby, turning to her. “On top of that, we’re a thing now, right? So yeah, I’d go this far. _Further_ if I thought you needed it…”

She stopped, turned away. The bathroom had fair whited out with steam. Over the sink, the lone fluorescent tube buzzed, lit the steam as an eerie white halo. Ruby felt Weiss’s weak, heated grip on her right hand. She turned and looked her in the eye.

“Stop being so nervous, then,” Weiss said. “It’s going to be awkward enough as it is, isn’t it? So, stop with this and let’s just do it…”

Maybe Ruby was making more of it than there had to be. Or maybe the heiress was simply too consumed with fever to make as much of it herself. Whatever the case, Ruby only nodded and went about it. She helped Weiss out of her clothes before disrobing herself. A moment later, both were sharing a nice, hot, somewhat relaxing bath.

Ruby found herself quite surprised at the size of the tub.

 

Ͼ

 

Before either really realized it, Friday had come again. Thursday night brought both a restless sleep, and then it was Friday once more. A week had passed since the year officially ended. Now there remained only one before the next. One more week of break, of reprieve from the learning and the schooling and all that.

And Weiss was still sick. When Ruby took her temperature that morning, it read one hundred even. While this did mean it had gone down, Ruby was sure there would be no recourse but to call a doctor. First option was one of the campus-provided, but if that failed (and like as not it would, being break and all) then it would have to be one of the few in Constance proper. This made her nervous. She was certain by now that something else would come of it to haunt Weiss.

Yet, another small miracle visited.

Just about eight that morning, or maybe a minute before, Weiss awoke in her bed. She sat up and looked around. The room she remembered so clearly from the last year of her life was a wreck. A somewhat organized wreck, but messy bedlam all the same in her eyes. Two small piles of clothes lay just at the end of her couch, between it and the door. The coffee table was covered on one side with a number of plates and bowls. They looked recently used. Beside these were seven or eight glasses, she couldn’t quite tell which, stacked in one another.

All those things only registered to her for a moment though. In the very next instant, Weiss noticed just how _covered_ in sweat she was. From head to toe, her nightgown nearly glued to her flesh. But in that realization, two other things came to her—both of them more important and somehow more pressing than the knowledge of being so soaked in sweat.

First, she thought to herself, _‘I need to go clean up.’_ After this, she thought, _‘Though, it is a pity since I bathed just last night…’_

It was a funny thing how that clicked in her head. At once, Weiss was afire for a reason wholly aside from the fever; she remembered just what she and Ruby had done. Admittedly no more than a shared bath, _but still_. Relief, however, showed up almost immediately after the slight mortification of that memory. In recalling these things and having these thoughts, Weiss realized…

Lucidity had returned.

 

Ђ

 

Her mind returned and fever be damned, Weiss talked Ruby out of calling a doctor. This was less out of the latter’s concern that it might cause trouble and more for Weiss’s pride. She was a Schnee, after all. She would get through this under her own steam. Considering, that is, the hope for improvement she found in her returned faculties held course.

“If I don’t absolutely have to see a doctor, I’d rather not,” she said to Ruby. Saying, _‘I’m simply too proud to stoop to that,’_ instead was, of course, out of the question.

Ruby saw through it in an intuitive sort of way, but nothing she could put to words. She went along with it, even still.

 

Ͼ

 

And on Saturday, the fever broke at last. Weiss took her own temperature that morning, and was beyond pleased to see an even ninety-eight-eight. Good enough to pass a driving test, as some might say.

 

Ђ

 

“I’m telling you, Weiss,” said Ruby for the umpteenth time, “there’s no need. It’s just soup…”

But the heiress was having none of it. Yes, she had had to bring a chair over to sit in. Yes, she was quite out of breath from only leaving her bed and traveling to the kitchenette. _Yes_ , she had lost most of her strength and energy in the week of being fevered…

She was, however, a Schnee.

“I can at least get our dinnerware and utensils,” she said.

Ruby uncrossed her arms, turned back to the pot of boiling miscellany, and sighed.

“I’m not going to talk you out of it, am I?”

“No, you’re not.”

“And you won’t listen to the logic that rest will get you your strength back quicker? I thought you loved logic…”

Weiss snorted a short chuckle. She said, “If that were the case, truly, then shouldn’t I be fine? I’ve been in bed for a _damned week_ now, haven’t I?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Ruby, uttering another sigh. She stirred the soup absently and without need. “If you won’t listen, fine. But please, don’t push yourself, okay? Patience is going to be your best friend for a couple days.”

“I’m not sure _patience_ would have the temerity to bathe me,” quipped the heiress.

She saw how this caused Ruby to suddenly stiffen, heard the clang of the wooden spoon tapping the side of the pot, and it made her giggle. Not for meanness, mind, but as a sort of comeuppance. If Ruby were going to give her a hard time for trying to be up and about again, then turnabout would have to be fair play; she herself had something to poke at a little.

“Although,” said Weiss as she stood and walked up beside Ruby, then began reaching for some bowls and glasses, “I can’t say I’m sad that _patience_ wouldn’t do that for me. I’m sure I don’t remember exactly how it went, but I suppose I wouldn’t mind a reoccurrence to remind me.”

“How long are you going to go on about that?” Ruby asked, unmistakably embarrassed.

“No idea,” Weiss answered simply. Then, turning to Ruby, she asked, “So, what would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice.”

Ruby wouldn’t look at her. Her face was flushed beet-red, her eyes staring daggers at the boiling soup. Weiss felt a brief moment of remorse, until Ruby suddenly turned to her and said, “If you’re really up for it again, I guess I wouldn’t mind. You _are_ weak from all that bedrest, so maybe I _should_ help…”

For a second—just a moment—the heiress felt her blood rising. She felt challenged. But then it melted away, and both began to belt laughter like they had just seen the funniest thing to ever exist. This lasted long enough for Ruby’s sides to begin aching and for Weiss to run fully out of breath, retreating to her chair for a sit. There, she laughed some more until she was sure she would drop the held dinnerware.

When they recovered, Weiss fetched orange juice for the both of them. Ruby served out their portions and they ate together, sitting at the little table on the edge of the kitchenette. It was only designed for one—had only the one seat—but they made due. Ruby used the heiress’s study chair. And it was a good meal. They shared light conversation, talked about the remaining week of break and what they might do.

Just before supper was finished, Ruby mentioned something in passing that stuck with Weiss for days after. Stuck to her like glue.

 

Ͼ

 

_‘We’ve been out and about together_ **many** _times now!’_ Weiss thought to herself. She lay awake Sunday night, just as she had Saturday night. She thought, _‘Surely she’s not right…’_

But no matter how many times she tried to remember, the heiress could only see it as Ruby had said. They had indeed done quite a few things together, most of which was going out to various restaurants. They had been to a single movie, yes, and there was the trip abroad (which went _so very_ well in the end). Studies too, but that hardly counted as being out and about.

_‘Dating,’_ she reminded herself.

Oh, that simply would not do, no. Weiss decided this on Monday night, and began to put something together no sooner than she awoke on Tuesday morning. Something she hoped would be wonderful in the end. But first, she would have to reconnoiter. If it were going to be memorable—and, perhaps as a bonus and more to her style, a good way of repaying Ruby’s abundant kindness to her in the last week—then she would have to figure out just _what_ would get the job done.

Weiss saw her opportunity Tuesday evening.

 

Ђ

 

Supper was finished almost on the stroke of seven that evening. At last, the heiress had managed to talk Ruby into _something_ besides soup. She was grateful for her concern of a relapse, but she was also becoming quite tired of stock. She said as much to Ruby, and the woman did relent. They had a pizza. It was the most delicious thing Weiss could recently remember having.

After they finished, Ruby suggested something that piqued the heiress.

“I brought my system over so we could play,” said Ruby, nodding toward the very item. “But all we’ve done since I got here—besides you being sick and all—is watch an occasional movie on it. I mean, watching movies with you is fine, or just talking, but how about we actually play a game?”

They sat on the couch, side by side. As if by pure instinct, Weiss had taken hold of Ruby’s hand. It just felt right. Now, at her words, the heiress turned and met the silver gaze beside her.

“Sounds perfectly fine to me,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about this?” Ruby held up a familiar box, Demon’s Souls written in bold, fancy lettering across its face.

Weiss could only smile.

“Perfect,” she said.

“Ok then, so how about we do this…”

Ruby stood and got everything ready. When she sat back down, she handed the controller to Weiss and flipped on the heiress’s small tv set.

“We’ll do it turn-based, yeah?” said Ruby. “You can go first, but if you die twice then it’s my turn. How’s that?”

“I guess that could work,” Weiss answered. Though she was loathe to do so, she then added, “But, don’t you think that would be a bit… uneven?”

“How so?” Ruby tilted her head.

Ignoring how cute she thought that looked, Weiss went on, saying, “Well, you’ve had much more experience with this than me. And, while I’m not one to ask for advantages, I think it might be proper if you accommodated that.”

Ruby giggled, said, “You have a point. Then, how’s two deaths for me and three for you sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” said the heiress with a faint grin.

Now, it was all formulated rather quickly, Weiss’s planned reconnaissance, but it did end up working out a treat. She didn’t even have to feign being terrible at the game; she was, in fact, still quite awful at the slow-paced, lumbering, thoughtful nature of the combat and quite taken off guard by the ambush-laden environs. In little time at all, Weiss had exhausted the three lives she was given for their shared knight.

“It’s okay, Weiss,” Ruby insisted, taking the offered controller. “Takes lots of time to get used to. I’m still pretty rusty too, so I’ll probably die about as quickly.”

Hogwash that was, of course. A bit of attempted but poorly executed modesty. Before the heiress’s eyes, Ruby guided their shared knight to the bloodstain, picked up their dropped souls, and went on with expert ease. Three ambushes and a life-or-death dash later, and, as Ruby informed her, they stood before a fog-wall which hid a boss.

She thought it might not be the best time, but Weiss decided to go for it anyway.

“So,” she said, watching Ruby prepare for the looming fight, “what sort of things do you like to do?”

Yeah, maybe not the _best_ way to broach the topic, but it would do. Ruby seemed pretty nonplussed either way, so that much was good. Weiss thought she might pull it off without a hitch. Maybe…

“Is this about what I said Saturday?” Ruby asked in turn.

“That obvious huh?” Weiss nodded to herself. “Well, yes, it is. We are a couple now, after all, so… we should do more couple-ish things, should we not?”

Ruby snorted a chuckle. Their shared knight bounded suddenly in a diagonal roll, the result of a miss-pressed button.

“You say that like it’s such a clinical thing, Weiss,” said Ruby. “I would like to go out and do things with you, yeah, but it doesn’t have to be _couple-ish_ stuff. We can just go out to go out, you know? But before I answer, why not tell me some of what _you_ like to do?”

“Because I asked you first,” the heiress answered quickly, quicker than she could actually consider.

“Okay, fine. You got me there.” Ruby moved their knight to the fog wall, then hesitated. Only a moment though.

The sound, to Weiss’s ear, of breaching the fog came as a brief earthquake rumble, jarring in its abrupt, queerly warbling tone.

“I’m a pretty big fan of just getting out and being active,” Ruby went on as the battle proper began. “I usually play the sort of games I do because it soothes my wanderlust. I used to think they _gave me_ that wanderlust, but I see now that wasn’t the case.”

The lumbering monster took a good swing at her, and Ruby deftly rolled out of it. No sooner than she had, however, it came back for another that Weiss was sure she could not outmaneuver. Indeed, Ruby blocked this one—got tossed into a backflip for it—and went right along, as though nothing were amiss. The heiress marveled at her girlfriend’s reflexes and timing, virtual representation notwithstanding.

“Remember those games I showed you, when you came over for the letter?”

“I do,” said Weiss, nodding.

“Well, do you remember the one called Morrowind?”

“Yes.”

She dodged another swing, countered and said, “ _That one_ is my favorite for just getting lost. The music, the scenery, the story you have to _read_ instead of just watching… It grabs you and pulls you in, makes you live in its world for however long you play. And I love that about it.

“So, when I go out places, I usually try to figure out something that will just draw me in and occupy my mind. Parks and places like that are always a good one; you go out to walk and sometimes sit, but always to surround yourself with nature and the outside. Kinda helps remind you how big the world is even if you never see most of it. Then there’s movies, of course. Not the best way to get lost in another place, but effective if they’re any good…”

Suddenly, the monster took a swing Ruby had not counted on. The damage was not enough to kill, but it did throw her off. She found herself unable to recover, and before she knew it the bold, bright-red words **_YOU DIED_** were taking up the center of the tv. She sighed, shook her head, and moved on again once the loading screen was done.

“Poor luck,” said the heiress.

“Yeah,” Ruby agreed, head nodding. “I forgot he switches up near the end. Sort of a second phase, I guess.”

Weiss watched her go right back to it, said, “I put together that parks and movies were a given. But there’s got to be more to it than just that, right?”

“I guess so,” Ruby conceded. She guided their shared knight to a point just before an ambush and stopped, leaned her head back and thought. “If I’m going to be _interrogated_ , then maybe I should just spill it all, huh? I’ve heard what the Schnees do to people they may-or-may-not take for making them cross…”

She cast Weiss an askance look. The heiress decided it was a comment made for comedy, and offered a perfunctory chuckle for it. In actuality, the comment reminded her (however briefly) exactly why she was so hellbent on deposing her father. Another problem for another time, though.

_That_ thought frightened her.

“Anyway,” Ruby said, returning to the game, “I haven’t been in a while, but I really like concerts too. And comedy shows. Live performances, in general, are pretty neat I think. You get to enjoy something—funny stuff or music, or a whole story in the case of a play—and at the same time there’s a sense of getting a peek in another person’s mind. Or maybe I’m just overthinking it…”

Ruby said more, as she went about the return to the boss. Weiss only heard bits and pieces of it. For you see, her mind went somewhere else entirely the moment Ruby had mentioned the word _concert_. It was funny almost, how that sort of thing works—how the brain can make what seems like a random connection, and from that bit of randomness, an entire possibility might end up unfolding.

Weiss enjoyed watching Ruby make short work of the boss-monster on her second attempt, her mind occupied with pleasant machinations as she did.

 

Ͼ

 

It was Wednesday morning and Weiss found herself at odds. They had only a precious handful of days left to enjoy the break. The new year was on its way, and fast. Ere long, they would be back to the not-so-awful life of advanced education, their time together and opportunities to share any semblance of intimacy cut drastically short. The heiress had a plan now, though. It would require careful maneuvering, but she thought it possible at least.

Yet, there were a few things to deal with first. Number one—and perhaps most pressing—was Winter. Aye, Ruby had told her about the call, and the heiress had assured her that she would be on it soon. But that was three days ago now, and Weiss knew that, whatever the original call had been for, it must be urgent indeed by now.

They finished breakfast not long after nine. Ruby set immediately to cleaning up the meal, and rather than fussing to try and help this time, Weiss excused herself to see to something. For a grace, Ruby did not ask what. So, the heiress excused herself, stepped outside and started down the hall, already marveling at just how well she was getting around again.

She held her scroll in one hand and a thin, plastic card in the other. Once she made it fully outside and onto the second-floor balcony, Weiss made the call. It rang twice.

_“Hello,”_ said Winter. No familiarity, no worried greeting. Just that one word.

“Hello, sister,” said Weiss in turn.

_“I heard you were ill. Have you recovered?”_

“Somewhat, yes. I’m still a little weak from all the bedrest, but it gets better every day. Ruby told me you called a little more than a week ago—just when I got sick, wasn’t it?”

_“I won’t mince words with you, Weiss,”_ said Winter, her tone perfunctory and plain. And yet, though she couldn’t quite mark it, Weiss was sure she heard something else beneath the professional glaze. Fear, was it? Or some sort of anxiousness? Winter went on, snapping the heiress from that pondering, and said, _“Skipping out like that wasn’t the brightest idea, you know? Father was—_ **is** _—rather angry._ **Pissed** _, to be frank…”_

“I thought he might be,” said Weiss. “Exactly how bad is it?”

There was a long pause, much longer than the heiress felt comfortable with. When it finally passed and Winter spoke again, Weiss released a breath she had not realized she was holding.

_“I would be much more **considerate** of my actions if I were you, Weiss,”_ Winter said, enunciating _considerate_ with considerable emphasis. Almost like the word was heavy.

And then it clicked. Weiss remembered how, when they were both much younger and the manor could be host to rather unsavory familial interactions, they had learned to use tone rather than words to communicate. She shook her head at herself, irked she had forgotten.

“I understand,” Weiss said, carefully sculpting her tone to sound remorseful. “If you speak to father before I do, please tell him I will apologize in person. I acted out of line.”

_“I’ll be sure to pass it along if I do,”_ Winter quickly agreed. To her relief—and yet, also slight worry—Weiss heard her sister’s tone soften. _“And Weiss,”_ Winter went on, _“do try to remember your bearing. You are a Schnee.”_

“I will, sister. Thank you, and take care.”

Another pause, much shorter, then, _“You too.”_

Winter hung up. Weiss was left to stare at her scroll, a busy tone playing loudly from the speaker. She sighed and ended her side of the call. It might not have been as bad as she had expected, but it was still far from good. Yet, this too would be a problem for another day. Sad to say, yes and thank you, but something more pressing was on her mind. Enough so to ignore the rather beautiful day just beyond the balcony.

Clutching the plastic card tighter than she should, the heiress opened up a link to the net through her scroll. She began searching, nigh frantic, for a site she had seen in passing some few days prior. On first seeing it, her mind had made only the minorest note. Now though, she was quite glad to have filed that note away all because of a funny-sounding name.

When she found it, Weiss smiled to herself; important item number two lay at hand

 

α

 

Ruby finished cleaning their meal some five minutes after Weiss had gone for her walk. She worried at first if her girlfriend was good to be on her legs, but was quite relieved to see the wobble of weakness mostly gone. Small miracles, she assumed.

With the cleaning finished and nothing else at present to do, Ruby retired briefly to the couch. She sat down, picked up her book from beside the gaming console, and began to read. A much younger Roland Deschain was quite in a pickle, and though she nearly knew the entire series by heart, she was anxious to see again how he would resolve it. With his big irons—the venerable _Guns of Deschain_ —like as not. But for some reason, the book simply could not hold her interest.

She gave it a chance. Almost ten minutes worth. When she decided she could do so no longer, and Weiss had still not returned, Ruby chose instead to occupy herself with an old, passed-down thing from her sister. It had not been long since she became able to even look at it again, thanks to Yang’s passing. Healing had come though, with time, and she felt it as good a chance as any to dust it off and give it a spin. That was why she had packed it.

And that was why, as she waited for Weiss, Ruby powered on the aging Walkman and popped in a veritable relic—an old cd she and Yang had loved when they were barely teenagers. She slipped her headphones on (also an old, nearly antiquated pair), leaned back on the couch and listened. Quickly she was carried away.

Josh Homme sang a Song for the Deaf; Ruby let it carry her to old, cherished memories.

 

Ͼ

 

“Saturday, yes?” Weiss questioned again, just to be sure.

“Yes, Miss Schnee,” said the man on the other end. She could all but hear the nervous sweat streaking down his brow. “And, I see now, we’ve just had two front-row seats open up. Though, the price is a bit much if I might say…”

“It’s no problem, I assure you.” But Weiss was also assuring herself. She was, after all, dipping into her personal funds yet again. Not enough to harm them, no, but enough to question her fiscal discipline. Which she had been doing quite a bit lately…

“Very well then, Miss Schnee.” This time, she was sure she heard the sound of a handkerchief, the man undoubtedly wiping at his slick, furrowed brow. “Will that be a card or an account?”

“ _Personal_ card,” she answered, enunciating the first word clearly.

“Understood, Ma’am. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

The heiress assured the man that, no, there would be nothing else, and read out the needed information to him. When the call ended, and after she had checked to confirm digital receipt of her purchase, Weiss breathed a long sigh of relief. She went over all the checked boxes in her head one last time—a call made through her private line, encrypted and so forth, and the purchase finished with her unmarked account—before letting herself feel it. Happy, that is.

Perhaps even _giddy_.

 

Ͼ

 

Only one third, final thing remained. For all of Wednesday, Thursday, and the better part of Friday, Weiss worried endlessly over that third, final thing. It scared her; it filled her with anxious hope. It made her feel idiotic, naïve even; it filled her with an almost grim surety of her direction. It distracted her at every meal and made focusing on books or games or movies a titanic feat. But most of all, it loomed before her like an impassable mountain. This was because it was out of her control and would hinge on how her plan unfolded.

_On how_ Ruby _reacted…_

 

Ђ

 

“Hey, Ruby?”

Her girlfriend sounded remarkably nervous. This snapped Ruby’s attention away from her book, almost as though a nearly scalding thing had touched her arm. She spun her gaze to Weiss’s icy-blue eyes.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” said the heiress. “I’m just… wondering if you would go out with me tomorrow evening. I mean, if you’re not sick of my company yet.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ruby laughed, couldn’t help it. She shut her book and turned to Weiss. “Nah, I’m not. I’ve enjoyed this, honestly—wouldn’t have wanted to spend the break any other way. Well, aside from you not being sick, I mean.”

“I know what you meant,” said Weiss, having her own little chuckle.

It was Friday night, and they had been sitting and reading together for almost an hour. Perhaps a boring idea to many, but it was something both women found an odd intimacy in sharing. Cuddled up on the couch, books in their laps, eyes lolling carefully over the print. Worlds coming to life in their minds. Adventures playing out before them, all while they remained comfortable in the heiress’s dorm-room.

Yet, Weiss was the epitome of frayed nerves. She had never quite felt so—save, perhaps, for that awful flight through the seedier portion of Constance, just before _Chrysanthemum_ had come to her rescue.

“I love you,” Weiss said, mostly unawares. She realized what she had said when Ruby gave her a wide, gentle, beaming smile.

But Ruby answered with a kiss rather than words. Short, but not chaste, not entirely. They came more frequently now, and deepened every time it seemed. Neither of them complained about this; both welcomed it, in their own ways. For Weiss, it was maintaining, and for Ruby, it was initiating more often.

“It’s a date,” Ruby said when their connection ended.

“Yeah,” Weiss whispered. “It’s a date…”

The heiress turned back to her book, lightly touched her lips, and continued reading.

 

Ђ

 

Friday night brought restlessness for both. And oddly enough, both noticed this of the other. The night outside was almost perfectly silent, the only light coming from gold-glowing streetlamps. A little bit of this cast in through Weiss’s window. In this slight illumination, Ruby saw the heiress tossing and turning. Weiss, too, saw Ruby tossing about when she chanced to look.

Weiss wondered to herself if this wasn’t becoming a pattern for her. She wondered if, maybe, things weren’t going a bit quickly. Or, maybe not quick enough? Her head spun with so many ponderings she also began to worry it might be the fever resurging.

“Hey, Weiss…” Ruby whispered.

“Yeah?”

Silence. Outside, a breeze picked up just strong enough to be heard. A playful, ghostly sigh behind the gold-glowing curtain.

Then, Ruby asked, “Are you nervous?”

“I am,” Weiss answered frankly. “Are you?”

“Yep.”

A sheepish, short chuckle.

“We must be quite the sight,” said the heiress.

“Like a couple of tweens,” Ruby started.

“About to go on their first date?” Weiss finished.

A little more silence. Mutual, mirthful giggles broke it this time.

“I might be a little forward here,” said the heiress, clutching the cover to her chin, “but, might I suggest something? It could help us get to sleep a little better. _Probably_ …”

“I’m all ears.” And Ruby felt that was honestly true, for she could hear the beat of every vein in her body then and there.

But Weiss’s suggestion did not come. Not for a time. The mostly dark, comfortably warm room grew quiet as the grave. The little breeze outside had apparently finished its sojourn and was off for points unknown. Or something similar. That silence grew so absolute, Weiss began to hear a ticking. She spoke—for she had to, realizing that ticking was her girlfriend’s Cheshire-faced wristwatch—lest the silence drive her mad.

“I’m better now, pretty sure, and these sheets are clean— _plus_ , you’ve been sleeping on a couch for the better part of two weeks, so…”

The heiress couldn’t seem to finish, but neither could she seem to back down. She stood on the cliff and wished desperately to dive for the waters below. That notion, like as not, propelled most of her recent few months’ worth of decisions. So, she did the only thing that came to mind as she lay there, withering beneath the unknown.

Ruby saw the heiress scoot back toward the wall, pull the covers down to midway, and pat the empty space she had made. She wanted to speak, to say something. Anything at all, really. But she could not; she found herself only able to do.

Yes, Friday night brought restlessness for both. _At first_. But from the moment Ruby accepted Weiss’s unspoken offer, that restlessness went away. It was replaced briefly with thumping hearts and fiery-hot embarrassment, but that too passed and they eventually enjoyed a sleep befitting moreso the dead.

 

Ђ

 

On Saturday morning—their second and last of the break—Weiss made their breakfast. Ruby felt a bit bad being surprised the heiress could cook, but forgot all that nonsense on tasting the odd dish of rice before her. Served paired with a salad of some sort, she found it quite the strange breakfast indeed. But it was filling, and it was made by Weiss.

They meandered about until just a bit before ten, when Weiss said, “You should probably head back and get ready.”

She meant, of course, for their excursion.

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing,” Ruby said. She had packed away a good number of her things—readying to head back to her own place, where she _lived_ —before starting on the gaming console. The heiress stopped her though, placing one unusually cold hand over hers.

“You surprised me with that dance,” Weiss said. “So, let me return the favor?”

“If it means that much to you, then sure, I don’t mind,” Ruby assured her. She withdrew from the console, left it be where it was. She asked, “Can you at least tell me if I need to dress up?”

“You don’t,” said Weiss. “Dressing comfortable would be a good idea, actually. I think I might break out a t-shirt, if I can _find_ one…”

Ruby snorted a single, loud chuckle, said, “ _You_ own a t-shirt?!”

“I own a few, I’ll have you know.”

The heiress poked her tongue out. This caught Ruby so off guard—having never seen her do such a thing—the woman nearly fell over at the sight.

For a while after, they bantered just so, going about small tasks until noon came around. It was then that the heiress bade her girlfriend to go on, get ready for their evening out. Twice more she assured her that comfort outweighed class for this venture. Many times more than that, she had to assure herself of the same. In her own thoughts. But by one in the afternoon, Weiss was alone in her dorm-room for the first time in exactly two weeks. It felt wrong, cold, and dead; _She_ felt surer than ever of her choice.

Only eight hours to see, if she were judging the venue right.

 

Ђ

 

Which, of course, Weiss did not. But let us not get ahead of ourselves as yet.

Like they had discussed, Weiss met Ruby at the train cradle by the latter’s apartment. This was at three. Both had dressed up in simple attire—rather nice jeans and an actual t-shirt for the heiress, and a well-worn pair of black jeans matched to a red shirt for Ruby, the logo of which pleased Weiss to see. At half-past, they boarded the line for Northern Constance, where the airships made port. The ride was calm enough, surprisingly, considering it to be a Saturday. They talked a little of this and a little of that along the way, watched the skyline of Constance bolt by in a blur of lights and colors and cold, concrete angles. Ruby remained curious the entire way, but thankful also—she had not been asked to wear a blindfold, at least.

When they arrived at the airfield, she became _very_ glad of that. Flying without sight would surely have meant motion-sickness.

“An airship, huh?” mused Ruby, mostly to herself.

“We’re going to Atlas City,” said Weiss.

Like it was only the most natural thing, of course.

“Capital of Mantle?!” Ruby nearly shouted.

“Yes.”

“That’s a five-hour flight!”

Weiss turned to her, and the icy-blue stare that gazed at Ruby looked absolutely dumbfounded. A small crowd had disembarked the train with them, but they were now dispersed to do their own thing, whatever that might be. The two women were left to themselves just outside the airfield’s primary terminal, the sound of whirring engines and fluttering wings filling the brief silence between them.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Weiss suddenly. “Yes, it would be five hours or so by the usual routes. But don’t worry about that. We’ll be taking the express.”

At first, this made no sense to Ruby. They went on in, checked their carry-on luggage. As they were lead to the airship that would take them, it still made no sense to her. But when she finally saw the small, sleek, almost predatory build of the airship, it all clicked. Like the last piece of a puzzle.

Before them stood a _Kaze_ -class corvette. Ruby knew little and less of airships, but even she knew the reputation of that model—how one had been used to make an emergency relief-delivery to Vacuo from Menagerie, taking only seven hours to do so. Oh yes, if you had somewhere to be in a hurry, the _Kaze_ -class would get you there with time to spare.

“I don’t want to know the ticket price for this thing,” Ruby said as they entered.

“No,” Weiss agreed. “You really don’t.”

And lo, they disembarked at IceFall—largest and primary airfield of Atlas City—at a quarter of seven.

 

Ђ

 

IceFall marveled Ruby, and the heiress, too, had to take herself a moment for it. Twelve enormous spires jutted up from the central platform—the main thoroughfare and point of concourse—blocking out a clear view of Atlas City. Running up the sides of these spires were countless landing pads, each just as busy as the rest, filled to the brim with airships of many varying sizes. From the smallest cruisers to behemoth frigates.

They spent little time there, however. Once their carry-on was checked again, they left for the Central Transit Terminal at the southern end of IceFall, bound for the line twenty. When they reached the CTT and boarded, their view of Atlas City still lay obscured, by a rather cheeky passing cloud this time. It did not register to Ruby, at first, how high up they had to be for that.

Then, the odd train began to move, and as it went the clouds parted before them, revealing a megalith the likes of which Ruby had never imagined to exist.

Skyscrapers that, much like their namesake, did indeed claw at the very heavens. Roads primarily consisting of a series of flashing lights to delineate the path. Sidewalks and footpaths made of what she would later find out to be hardlight, a true marvel of the Schnee Dust Company if ever she’d seen such. Countless flying vehicles of all sorts—from small, personal airships to little more than cars that could apparently float and fly.

Ruby’s head was on a swivel from the moment they boarded the train, and remained so even after they disembarked. She simply could not seem to take it all in. To the heiress, that was quite a blessing. Besides how it made her so happy to see her girlfriend so enamored, it also relieved her.

For, you see, Ruby did not notice a single billboard or advert on their way. Even until they arrived at what looked like a decent place for a quick, pre-show snack.

 

Ђ

 

“Interesting menu,” said Ruby.

“Interesting place,” added Weiss in agreement.

Aye, interesting indeed, to say the least. There must have been two hundred people packed in the rather tight confines of Grilly’s Pub. Probably the heiress’s clout that got them a seat at a booth, tucked near the front. She had been greeted as “Miss Schnee” by their server, so Ruby assumed that to be the case.

Ruby let her eyes crawl over the _interesting menu_ , trying to decide what she wanted. It had only sunken in after they sat down that Weiss had referred to this as a pre-show snack. Now, she wondered what that show might be, though she daren’t tip her hand and reveal this wondering. So, she let her eyes drift and her mind contemplate.

Until a particular drink caught her gaze.

“Hey, Weiss, check this,” she said, turning her menu around. “A ‘coiled sword cocktail’…”

Weiss took a glance at Ruby’s menu, then turned her own to the same spot. She found the drink easily enough.

“Raspberry-infused vodka paired with a crushed sage and jalapeno bottom, served over frozen strawberries,” she read aloud.

“Think it’d be good?”

“Sounds like too many opposing flavors to me,” Weiss answered. “What do you think?”

Ruby looked up from the menu, met Weiss’s gaze. Then, oh so fleeting, the heiress saw those silver eyes flick to something behind her.

“We’re on an adventure,” said Ruby, “so, why not be adventurous? Let’s both try it.”

Weiss considered turning down the idea. She decided not to, and when the server returned, both ordered the odd drink. On top of this, Weiss requested a salad and Ruby went for a plate of chicken tips, whatever those were.

“Coming right up,” said the server. He returned in seemingly no time at all, put out their orders and said, “Enjoy those drinks, ladies. They really kindle the inner fire.”

They ate and drank in silence. Well, silence on their own parts; the rest of Grilly’s was bustling so loud one could hardly hear themselves think. The whole time, Ruby noted that her girlfriend kept glancing at her watch, eyes darting around as inconspicuously as she could manage. It hadn’t taken Ruby long to track her gaze to one of the posters.

Her heart soared at the thought.

 

Ђ

 

At precisely a quarter past eight, Weiss abruptly claimed their little pre-show snack over. She hailed a server, paid their tab, and they left before change could be brought. Ruby thought she looked nervous. She had no idea how right she was.

So, they went southward along the busy streets until they came to the largest theatre Ruby had ever seen.

 

Ͼ

 

H-hour had come, and Weiss was a nervous wreck. She had assumed she could handle it. But quickly, she was beginning to see how wrong she had been. The suspense twisted her up in knots. It came as nearly a blinding relief when they finally arrived at the Parthenon, Atlas’s pride and joy of the artistic medium.

 

Ђ

 

“Holy shit, Weiss…” Ruby exclaimed in a choked whisper.

Before them rose the imposing, almost oppressing monolith of the Parthenon. Great columns of white who-knows-what holding up a roof of what had to be solid bronze with gold embossings. These depicted all manner of legends in the world of art—from the greatest figures of cinematography to the mothers and fathers of classical painting, and even some few renowned authors. Ruby spotted the visage of Stephen King himself, looking newer than most of the rest, peeping over the far western side of the roof.

But none of the building’s details or features had caused Ruby’s exclamation. Rather, it had been the massive banner hung off the front of the Parthenon, proudly declaring the Queens of the Stone Age to be playing their newest album as a Remnant-wide tour debut this eve.

“I had hoped to keep you in the dark until they came out on stage,” said Weiss. She looked at Ruby, who stood, nearly shaking, with her hands clapped tight over her gaping jaw. “Guess that was wishful thinking, huh?”

“Weiss, I…”

Ruby tried, oh, desperately so. But she simply had no words. She only stood there gawping, and barely even that; it felt like her legs would surely buckle at any moment.

“Ah, Miss Schnee!” called out a short, stubby, bald man. “I see you and your plus-one have arrived! Please, follow me and I’ll get both of you situated.”

Only the heiress turned to look at the man. He wore a tweed suit and round eyeglasses that would have looked more fitting on an old school professor. His head, shining just a tad under the many lights all around, had not a single speck of hair. Almost looked polished. And sure enough, just as Weiss had imagined when on the phone with him, he plucked a little hanky from his breast pocket and started mopping at the profuse sweat on his forehead. The poor man was the epitome of nerves.

Though, that comforted Weiss a tad, seeing someone else equally anxious.

“Try not to drag the entire crowd’s attention, Mister Humphrey,” she said to the man once he’d drawn close enough.

“Oh, my apologies.” He gave a quick, deep bow. “But please, if I may? The show hasn’t long to start and we’ll need to get you both your passes. There is a protocol, after all.”

“I’m sure there is,” said Weiss with a nod. Then, turning to Ruby (who she took gently by the arm), she said, “Come on. There’s much more of interest to gawk at inside.”

“Uh huh…” was all Ruby managed, more a sighing assent than a statement, as the heiress lead her into the Parthenon.

 

Ђ

 

At first, it all went by like a blur for Ruby. They went in, lead by Mister Humphrey, and got all their tags and tickets. Then they had a detour by the concessions, picked up some drinks and little things to munch on. By the time she was coming to and fully understanding what was happening, Ruby found herself sitting in the frontmost row, centered perfectly before the stage and with what had to be the best view in the house.

It sank in, then and there, and she turned toward Weiss with such a jerk that it caught the heiress’s attention.

“Are you o— _?_ "

But before Weiss could finish her question, she became the recipient of a crushing hug. She felt something hot and moist run down her neck a moment later.

“Oh gosh, _thank you Weiss!_ ” Ruby sighed. Sobbed?

Said in a manner indistinguishable from utter elation. Yes, that.

“Honestly, Ruby, think nothing of—”

And again, before she could finish, the heiress was stopped. It might have annoyed her had it not been done in so pleasant a manner this time. Mostly pleasant that is, for Ruby leaned back and then kissed her with nigh-injurious force. Their lips smashed together, heat flooded Weiss’s lungs, and the whole exchange carried on for half-past forever. Then, it was simply done.

Ruby pulled away, tears in her eyes, looking utterly bashful and absolutely ecstatic all at once.

“This band is amazing!” she shouted. In the hushed din of the pre-show, her voice carried and was met with not a few hollers of agreement. “I didn’t know you were into this sort of music, Weiss, but wow! Thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ ”

The heiress giggled. She had not seen her girlfriend get so wound up before, and the sight was quite gratifying.

“I’m really not into rock,” said Weiss once the giggles had passed. “For you though, I’m sure I can manage.”

“Trust me, you’re going to love these guys! Aw man, like, really!”

Ruby began to bounce about in her seat, so pleased with the thought of where the night would go. Weiss tried to say something else, maybe carry on a conversation, but was interrupted for a third time. _Yet again_. Only, this time it was no particular person that interrupted her.

Rather, it was the show.

 

Ω

 

The lights came down. A sudden hush fell, quick and heavy and vicious. Weiss’s attempted response was stopped by what seemed to be the air leaving the room. Then, one by one, small cheers and applause began to pop up. Someone far toward the back whistled. One man maybe twenty seats to their left stood, hollered at the top of his lungs. More and more it cropped up, the cheering and whistling, the whooping and hollering, until the din seemed it would surely spin out of control.

Weiss strained her eyes, keened them to the stage. Five humanoid shapes came into shadowy focus, moved to their places. Instruments were hoisted; the din became louder. The one who had to be the lead coughed into the mic, perhaps to check it; again, the din increased. Someone close enough to Weiss to shake her with his baritone yelled, “Ho yeah!” She jumped. Ruby put an arm around her waist, then cupped the other hand to her own mouth and _screamed_. Despite how this mortified the heiress—the scream not the arm, which quite pleased her—those around them seemed to echo Ruby’s sentiment, casting more whistles and shouts, calling for the show to start.

“You assholes ready to rock?”

Was _that_ the singer? Weiss could not help but huff at this. How very uncouth…

“I hope you are, cuz we’re sure as hell ready to roll!”

A sharp, buzzing riff started up, punctuated deeply with a melodic, mesmerizing drumbeat. Weiss actually found herself tapping her foot along to it.

“ _Oh, hell yes!_ ” Ruby exclaimed beside her. “ _The Way You Used to Do—I love this one!_ ”

The lead man started in, his voice a melodious incongruity, and it seemed to Weiss that bedlam followed. He rose from deep baritone to high soprano, sometimes in the same verse. Along with his tone, so too did the crowd bob and dip, shift and jive. It was nothing like she had expected. The music thudded throughout her. The vocals picked her up and swept her away. All around her were whoops and hollers, swaying bodies that would not let the rigid seating arrangements confine them. Then, suddenly, just as the first song hit its central piece, Weiss felt a pull.

It was Ruby. They were headed for the aisle.

“What in blazes?!”

But she got no answer. Ruby lead her to the aisle—where, already, a none too small crowd had also gathered to throw themselves about in what had to be a dance—turned and pulled the heiress to her. They collided, Weiss nearly losing her feet. Ruby neither staggered nor swayed. Rather, she gazed upon Weiss’s shocked, confused face, smiling impishly.

“Let’s rock!” she shouted over the pandemonium, and released the heiress.

The music continued to swell—that first performance climbed to its crescendo, a cacophony of guitars and drums and sounds Weiss could little identify. The heiress watched her girlfriend begin to bob and sway, contort in all sorts of funny ways. She decided, after a time, that it had to be the sort of dancing these venues saw. And rather than try to escape it…

Weiss joined her. She let herself feel it—the music, the singer, the momentum of the crowd, _Ruby’s_ energy—and did her best to follow accordingly. Sure, she felt foolish, herking and jerking about, twisting in all sorts of discombobulated ways, but _it felt right_ too. Can ya dig it? She sure did, aye.

Then began the second song, this one a bit less energetic until two-thirds through. They did not return to their seats. The herky-jerky dancing continued, energy and feeling given motion and form. So, too, went the next. And the one after that. All the way until the end of the show two hours later—both women now a nearly breathless, miserably sweaty mess—they jived to the beat.

For Weiss, the entire experience was simply intoxicating.

 

Ђ

 

“Hey Weiss, how about these?” Ruby called.

The heiress turned from the bauble she had been absently inspecting and looked at Ruby. The woman held up two identical t-shirts, both of which were clearly commemoratives for the show. Rather typical for a venue to have a little gift shop, but the heiress had not exactly expected what she saw. Keychains and shirts and hats, and all sorts of various odds and ends. No, she had expected to see more high-class things, especially from somewhere like the Parthenon.

“Did you check the sizes?” she asked, pushing aside her musings.

“They’re one-fits-all.” Deftly, Ruby popped the shirt over what she was wearing. The heiress almost laughed aloud at the loose look of the thing hanging off her. “See?” she went on. “Yeah, they’re mass-produced cheapos, but they look cool as heck…”

“Not exactly _my_ style,” said the heiress. She turned back to the bauble she had been inspecting—an abysmally low-quality mug she thought she might use for coffee during studies after this.

“We could match,” said Ruby.

Weiss put the mug down for the last time, turned slowly around. Suddenly, she recalled what had been fraying her nerves the whole evening. It set back to gnawing at her like a rat among computer wires.

“How much are they?”

“Uh…” Ruby took the shirt off and turned it over until she found the tag. “Says fifty. Damn, that’s pretty high…”

Ruby all but jumped from her skin when the heiress waltzed over, snatched both shirts, and began to march for the checkout. She watched her, almost cautiously, wondering about the hint of stiffness to her gait.

 

Λ

 

On the walk back to the CTT Ruby’s head did not swivel as earlier. Fatigue from the concert had set in, and it was all she could do to drag her bones along. Though, in Weiss’s company, that fatigue was somewhat mitigated. She looked over, to her left, and again noted the hint of stiffness in Weiss’s stride. Could have been fatigue as well she imagined, but it seemed a little off. Not quite.

“Got to say, that was amazing, Ruby.” Weiss gave a slanted grin.

“You’re telling me?” Ruby gave a grin as well, hers beaming and wide. “I never thought I’d get to go to the Parthenon of Atlas City. And to see the _Queens_ no less!”

Ruby stopped and swayed for a moment. Partly for her aching leg, but also for the sheer incredibility of the evening. Weiss stopped too, then turned suddenly toward Ruby. On looking closer, Ruby saw she was still sweating a bit as though they had only just exited the concert hall. Then, before she knew it, the heiress had taken her up in a hug, tight as the one Ruby had earlier given.

Only, Weiss did not bury her face in Ruby’s neck. Rather, she pulled back after only a moment and said, “Let’s stop by the park.”

Ruby’s head swam for some reason, but she shook it off and asked, “Park? What park?”

“Sector four is where most of the tourist attractions are,” said the heiress. “There’s plenty all over the city, but the lion’s share are here. One of them is this sprawling art exhibit put up years ago that never got taken down. A _nature_ exhibit, one might say, that eventually became an entire park.”

The heiress’s voice sounded off to Ruby. Warbly, almost nervous even. And timid…

“Sounds good to me,” Ruby answered at last.

And so, by Weiss’s lead, they went. The park lay none too far off their path, hardly two blocks away. When they arrived, Weiss tipped her hand that she knew the place, leading them along until they came to a small gazebo under a massive, looming willow. They sat down at the little table within. Behind the gazebo, a creek babbled along in the dark. Such a soothing sound, Ruby thought. Weiss, however, was anything _but_ soothed. By any part of the place.

“Ruby,” the heiress began, her voice cracking a bit, “what are we?”

Now, Ruby was no idiot, and certainly not much of a fool. Not when she didn’t mean to be, of course. But that question caught her flatfooted, wrongfooted, and ass-backwards. She misheard it, let us say.

“People?” she offered earnestly.

At first, Weiss thought she was being purposefully obtuse. In the dim light coming from a little lamppost some twenty yards off, the heiress _saw_ her confusion and sighed.

“No, Ruby,” she said. “I mean, what _are_ _we_?”

“ _Oh…_ ” she felt it click, and Weiss saw it. “Uh, what am I supposed to say to that? I mean, we’re dating, aren’t we?”

The heiress nodded.

“So we’re a couple then, right?”

Another nod. Was her face reddening?

“Okay, then that’s settled,” said Ruby. “Why’d you ask?”

“Well,” Weiss began, “maybe that wasn’t the right question. I suppose I meant, _where_ are we?” Before her girlfriend could again be confused, she added, “As a couple, I mean.”

Suddenly, Ruby’s thoughts from days ago came back to her, a swirl of malaise and dourness. She was certain (and rightly so, though she would never actually know) that the evening had been Weiss’s way of thanking her for the last two weeks. For taking care of her while she was sick, that is, and perhaps even for how thorough Ruby had been in doing so. The caring and sincere side of Weiss that she so adored, what most of the world did not get to see, was out before her.

‘ _If I don’t mess it up_ ,’ she thought again.

“Nevermind,” said Weiss, snapping Ruby out of it. “I’ll end up beating around the bush ad nauseam if this keeps up…”

The heiress straightened up and looked away, toward the lamppost.

“I’d like us to get a place together,” said the heiress. “If you’re willing, of course. If you would want to…”

Everything seemed to stop for Ruby. The calm air of the park, hardly a breeze. The soft babble of the creek, that natural tune which had calmed her from arrival. Even her own heartbeat seemed to deaden and cease in her bosom. For Weiss, sweat started to prick at her brow, her face reddened further, and her very being felt aflame.

‘ _Why did you say that? Hell, why are you even **thinking** that this early on?_ ’

It ran through her mind, again and again. No, there really was no sense to it, no real logic or justification. The heiress could not look at the idea from any angle and decide it was sensible or proper. None, that is, save for the angle of how it _felt_ , and it felt no more than simply right. But she, too, sensed the deadening of the air around them, the silent pall that had so swiftly descended. It dragged on what seemed forever until, at last, Ruby’s sweet, soft voice broke it like so much brittle glass.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes,” Weiss answered without hesitation.

“But… why?”

“Because it feels right. And because I’d like us to.”

“You don’t think you’d get tired of me if we were around each other all the time?”

“No.” Again, no hesitation, no vacillation. This showed clearly in her tone.

“And you don’t think it’s too soon?”

“Honestly, I’m afraid it might be. But I have no baseline to compare against, no knowledge on this subject, so… I don’t know.” Weiss took a breath and shut her eyes. “I’m _afraid_ it might be too soon, but when I think about it—about seeing you every morning and every evening, or having dinner with you and not having to part afterward, or just loafing around, or even studying and knowing we don’t have to say goodbye when we’re done—that worry, that _fear_ that it’s too soon, it just… melts away.”

Ruby said nothing for a time. The heiress became sure she would lose her nerve entirely if the silence dragged on.

“How do _you_ feel about it?” she asked, her voice timid moreso than Ruby had ever heard.

“I…” the silver-eyed vixen began, but only trailed off.

For minutes she sat there, looking Weiss’s way. When the heiress finally turned her gaze back to Ruby she was met with a stare that felt like it would pierce to the very bottom of her. Not unlike being analyzed.

Then, Ruby spoke.

“Feels like the bistro again.”

“Does it?” Weiss thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“Do you know what I think about you?” Ruby asked, her gaze never leaving the heiress.

“I’d like to think so,” said Weiss.

“Well, let me tell you, just to be sure.” Ruby closed her silver eyes, straightened up a bit and breathed deep. “You’ve been nothing but the best sort of friend to me, Weiss. I hope I’ve done the same. And, for a lot longer than the bistro, I’ve felt… _attached_ to you. Like I need you. Like you make me better, make me want to _be better_. When I say I love you, I mean I want to be a better me _because of you_ …”

Entirely unnoticed to her, a single tear slid down Weiss’s left cheek, golden in the lamppost’s far-off light.

Ruby went on, saying, “I’m not exactly experienced with this stuff, either—besides a few guys I dated, I’ve never really gotten too in to romance, and even then, it was more palling around than anything—so I can’t really say what’s too fast, or too soon. Not for me, and not for you.”

It looked like she would say more, but she fell silent instead. They heard footsteps, and a rather amorous couple passed by, likely having a post-date walk themselves. The two were laughing, holding each other, occasionally stopping for a quick kiss. Weiss tried not to look their way.

“Is it too soon for you, Weiss?”

“Whether it is or isn’t, it’s what I’d like to do.”

They met gazes again. This time, both wore the soft expressions of those who have opened up their hearts and minds, and yea, even their very souls. Tears welled in both jeweled gazes—silver and icy-blue.

“Just to be clear,” said Ruby, her voice unwavering and calm, “my answer is my own. I love you—exactly how I described—but I’m answering for me. I think, if we’re going to make this into something long-lasting, we’ll both have to do more of that.”

The heiress moved to answer, but Ruby went on.

“I stayed over to take care of you because of how I feel for you. I did it because I was worried, because I didn’t want you being alone for it or getting worse without someone there. Everything that encompasses, I did for my own motivation. _It was nothing that needed repaying, or acknowledging_.”

Again, Weiss tried to speak, but again, Ruby plodded right along, a woman mid-sermon.

“I can’t tell you how thankful I am for this outing. _This date_ , I mean. I’ve wanted to see Queens in person for so long, and then you just up and pull this out of thin air! I can’t imagine what you payed for this… And like I said, I really am grateful, but I’m worried you’re not thinking enough about yourself here, Weiss, and that scares me. For what we have. For _us_. Don’t see this all as a duty, or a set of cause-and-effect scenarios, or anything like that. If we’re going to be a thing, then I want you to do what makes you happy.”

What came next had the heiress nearly leap from her seat. Like a flash of lightning, Ruby reached deftly across the table and cupped her chin. Then, gently, pulled her close at the same time as she leaned in. Until their noses were hardly inches apart.

“I love you. Let me see you smile because you’re enjoying yourself. Please?”

Weiss nodded. She could think of nothing else to do.

“Would you smile if we lived in the same place?”

Another nod, slightly livelier.

“Is it cuz you want to?”

“Yes,” Weiss said, nodding still.

Ruby’s hand released her, drifted slowly to the tabletop. They remained barely inches from touching noses. Since the table between them was rather small, this looked almost natural, like a couple properly ending a romantic evening. And somewhere, far in the distance and deep beneath their conscious awareness, both women heard a door slowly shut itself for good.

“Don’t let me ruin your life, Weiss,” said Ruby.

“Perish the thought,” said Weiss.

They shared a smile, and a long kiss after. In the end, no straight answer was given. The answer was merely understood.

Soon after midnight, the two women finally boarded the _Kaze_ -class to return to Constance. Atlas City had been good to them. By two in the morning they were back at the MTU. By a quarter of three, they were well asleep. Perhaps interestingly or perhaps obviously, Weiss and Ruby slept in the former’s dorm-room, stretched out and dead to the world on the heiress’s immense mattress.

The lock on the door that both had heard clicked into place, never to undo again.


	6. First Interlude - It Starts Again

First Interlude

It Starts Again

 

Ω

 

Levi Ansleif awoke while Constance yet slept. His emerald-green eyes popped open, nary a blink or squint, and he sat bolt upright in the bed. The austere room he inhabited—devoid of any furnishings save for his bed and a single chair—had not one hint of light in the hours before sunrise. This was fine to him. He needed no light to see by.

The odd man went about his morning routine in silence, no light and no sound. This usually consisted of rising from bed like an automaton, dressing himself with that same lack of flair, and finally, simply leaving. But he was stopped at the door this day by a tight, bony grip on his shoulder, and Levi knew immediately who it was. Of course he did. He’d smelled the room’s other occupant since rising and knew that icky-sweet, marshy scent well. ‘Twas the smell of decay. A dead thing amid the dark that was still very much up and about.

“How are you today, _dead one_?” Levi asked.

“Oh, same old same old,” it answered in its gravelly, wispy tone. A fresh wave of the putrid aroma washed out along with its words. It took all Levi had in him not to retch.

“Prithee tell, wherefore callest thou upon I?”

“Drop that shit,” said the dead thing.

It released its grip on Levi, went and sat on his bed. He turned to face the thing, not really wanting to do so, and noted the sheets would need washing. Aye, the dark in his room reigned absolute, but he could see just fine all the same. And lo, he saw the ragged thing that was once—longer ago than memory stretched—a man alive and well. Saw it in its torn, molding robe. Saw its haggard and peeling face with eye sockets that held no such organs any longer. _Smelled_ it even worse now that he looked upon it. The students would probably complain later, as its scent tended to hang around for days.

“I’ve come to hurry you along,” said the dead one. “I feel the light getting weaker and there’s not much time left.”

“This isn’t something to rush along, you know?” Levi said.

“Wish it were enough to just say that...” The dead thing leaned back on its hands, craned its gaze toward the unlit ceiling. “Listen though, and listen close. Hearken thine ears, if it please ye that I say; my screwups are about to come full circle. We don’t have the luxury of letting things cook slowly.”

“Can’t rush art,” Levi repeated.

“Yeah, I can, and I am.”

“Then you’re going to get results you didn’t want. Isn’t that how it went with blondie?”

“She wasn’t right from the get-go,” said the dead thing, sounding defensive.

“That’s not what you said in Mistral,” Levi pressed. “Nor is it what you said in Menagerie. Or _Vacuo_ either…”

“Don’t push me, kid.” The dead thing stood suddenly, crossed the room to Levi in a flash. “I really don’t like getting pushed. It makes me mad. _I don’t like being mad_ , dig me?”

“Yeah, I dig you, daddy-o.”

Levi turned away, trying again not to retch. If the dead thing’s scent were not bad enough then its breath would surely do the trick. He quickly began to lose this battle. Might have to note that his floor needed cleaning too.

“Suck it up and figure it out,” said the dead thing. “And put a goddam rush on it, too. The light dims further every moment. Once it’s gone, we’re all fucked ten ways from Tuesday. Got me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you!” Levi called out.

To an empty room. The dead thing was gone. That came as somewhat of a relief, but the burden of their conversation nullified it. His stomach now sat in a twisted mess—for reasons beyond that awful stench—and the decent mood he’d awoken with was as spoiled as the dead thing itself. Levi turned back to the door and opened it, took one look at the well-lit hallway and shut it.

“How’s about Atlanta?” he said to no one, then opened the door again.

This time he stepped through. It did not lead him into the faculty hallway of the MTU dormitory.

 

Ω

 

Atlanta’s streets lay in the same apocalyptic wreck Levi had last seen them in. It almost didn’t bother him at this point. He took a look around, absorbing the total ruination of it all.

A couple more skyscrapers had collapsed since last time, but at least ten of them still stood whole. Vines climbed their sides, choked the concrete and had long ago burst most of the windows. Trees grew out of nearly every crevice or opening, reaching out like bark-covered, green-fingered arms to claw at the sky. As if nature were claiming it did a better job of _skyscraping_. At the tippy top of each—wherever that was, even the ones that had broken and collapsed—a ring of beautiful flowers grew. Lilies and monkshoods, virginal pink and enigmatic purple. Always those same damn flowers.

Levi sighed, looked back at the ground. Observed the bedlam that had been frozen in time by the now stillborn earth. His earth. His _home_ , once upon a time…

Cars sat as rusted, blasted out sentinels keeping eternal vigil over a city that bustled no more. Street signs stood bent and twisted, poking all sorts of funny directions. Most were melted nigh completely out of shape too, but some could still be made out. Levi saw one in particular that jutted from the side of an old Amoco station—undoubtedly put there by the big booms—that had been melted to the shape of a smile.

“At least someone’s got a good outlook here,” Levi said to himself.

He sighed again. Turned away from the smiling former stop sign. Started down the road toward the Georgia State Capitol. This little sojourn had a purpose indeed, but Levi wanted to take his time. It had been a while since he’d visited. The big booms had ruined the place and the rest of this earth, yes, but the coming of the light had frozen it. Just as the ruination had begun to give way to the clutches of nature, things returning to their beginning state. In a way, it was all stopped right as rebirth had begun. There were no corpses or bones to be bleached by the sun; no animals or little critters skittered about. Just the plants now frozen at the precipice of their resumed sovereignty.

And that image calmed him.

With the bilious taste of ominous knowing on his tongue, twisting his guts and burdening his heart, the sight was a blessing he would not soon squander. So, on his way, Levi took his time and stopped at every sight he felt to. Like that old donut shop he’d been to every morning on his way to work at the Capitol, where the sweet smell of pastries and icing hung ever-present on the air and old Mister Petrov always had his favorite croissant ready. Or the little newsstand that kept back a copy of his favorite magazine for him, the sections for the stock market highlighted prominently. Ah yes, and let us not forget the automotive dealership where he had bought his first vehicle; in the summer of seventy-four, there had been a baby-blue Ford sedan there that simply had his name on it. The salesman hadn’t been a snake and had actually given him a fair enough price on the thing. In gratitude, Levi had returned there to have all his maintenance and even to buy his wife a car on their fifth anniversary.

Good times, those had been. Decent days now long gone, so much dust and shattered pieces—not unlike the few mostly whole skyscrapers that dotted the cityscape.

At last, the Capitol came into view, a gold dome amid torn-down and grey ruin. Levi looked up and let his eyes sit for a moment on the old Stars and Stripes atop its concrete awning. Wind no longer blew to wave Old Glory, but still, he gave her a short, contemplative glare. Then, bowing his head, he passed under her stars and stripes and entered the grand building.

The place looked quite kept-together, funny enough. Nothing like the desolation outside its doors. A few pieces of the gold-plated ceiling had caved over the ages and dusty remnants of concrete smattered the floor. But every last piece of furniture lay exactly where it had been on the last day mankind had walked within. The big booms had not touched it, a miracle Levi still could not discern the meaning of. And a miracle it was for him indeed on this visit. Since things had not gone to shit as the rest of the city, it meant he would not have long to search.

Levi stepped over a piece of gold-and-concrete ceiling, rounded the reception desk and turned left. He followed a long hallway—stepped through metal detectors whose batteries burned no longer—until it dead-ended in a three-way fork. He took the righthand path and continued along. After counting ten doors on his right, he stopped.

“Georgia State Annals,” said Levi, reading the placard on the left side of the door. “Bingo, kemosabe.”

The handle twisted under his grip with ghostly ease. Not a squeak or creak, not the slightest metallic groan. Even the hinges turned, opening the door before him, with the grace of a whisper. He stepped in and shut it. Old habits and all that.

He began to pace along the aisles of old, outmoded paper records. A few months before the big booms, the state had claimed they would be making the switch to digital recordkeeping. The motion had passed the House almost unanimously but gotten no further. Hellfire had rained from the skies, horrors had climbed from the cracked, split ground, and the earth—Georgia and her forty-nine sisters alongside the greater whole—had ground to a sudden, violent halt. The paper records would have become little more than dust if not for the light.

“There you are,” Levi said to himself. He opened up a particular cabinet, pulled out the drawer and began to dig. “Funny how they used to say, ‘All roads lead to Rome.’ I seem to keep getting lead back here no matter which roads I take…”

His fingers drifted over and turned away folder after folder. All were old motions passed by the Georgia General Assembly, thick and fat with legalese, kept for reference. Which was never needed, but appearances had to be kept up of course. Good thing for him. It meant that, on that fateful day, he’d had a safe place to hide it. And now he’d come back, a chicken home to roost.

At last, Levi’s roaming hands stopped. He plucked up an oddly misshapen folder, tucked it in his long-coat, and returned the drawer to the filing cabinet. A smile crept across his strangely handsome face, and not a moment after, the odd man collapsed to his knees to belt laughter.

Quite like a madman.

 

Ω

 

Levi chose the old donut shop to make his return. The light had preserved everything in a sort of off, queer stasis, but even so there was little to have.

Old, moldy, mostly rotted donuts lay scattered about. Nothing had touched them since the big booms. Maybe a few of the initial survivors had taken some, but none had come since and nothing looked disturbed. Just rotted and reclaimed by the once-ailing earth. However, Levi did spot one thing to partake of—the old, glass-front fridge just left of the register, still about a quarter full of glass-bottle Coca-Cola. Levi didn’t need the calories or anything, merely wanted the sentimental taste. He took one, and as a sort of reverential thing, he then left a few paper Lien on the counter. Same as last time—he even cast a glance at the moldering bills from that previous visit.

When he finished, Levi went to the donut shop’s back room. He opened up the manager’s office and took a look inside. Still an empty, ghostly ruin. Once more he wished old Mister Petrov a peaceful journey on (glad he had passed quickly, being so near the first of the big booms), then shut the door. The second time he opened it, Levi stepped through into the brightly-lit, fresh-smelling hallway of the MTU faculty dormitory.

 

Ψ

 

Blake opened her eyes to the day some two hours before dawn would break. Constance slept on. Outside the window of the cheap motel—a true scarcity in such an opulent city—she heard crickets chirping and, with her preternatural ears, even the sound of some few bats still about. They swooped and dove, little dive-bombers of the dark hours, snatching small insects in their dexterous jaws and flitting off to enjoy the meal before going right back to it. In a way, this ecological cycle soothed her; the circle of predator and prey, just as hunter and hunted, spoke to her inner self.

And to that gnawing, growing lust that burned brighter with every passing day, which craved blood in recompense for loss.

Her golden eyes regarded the room, took in the dusty, musty sight of it. Her deeply attuned nose crinkled at the smell of long-settled cigarette smoke. She coughed twice, then rose from the icky-feeling covers. “Cleaned every day!” the sign out front had proclaimed. Blake severely doubted the veracity of that.

After a quick series of stretches and light exercise—cardio mostly, to limber up—she made her way to the bathroom. Quick as she could, the faunus made herself ready and quit that dank, awful little room. And with all her gear and garb in place, she left, stopping not for breakfast or even a little snack. Hunger did not call on her form. Not for food, anyroad. Instead she craved retribution, satisfaction, and cold closure. Her once-kind heart burned with hate. Her head swam with visions of violence that, should the day’s hunt go well, lay tantalizingly at hand.

Ten past six was when Blake Belladonna left the cheap motel at the very edge of Constance, close enough to the city limits to see the icy mountains and snowy tundra of Mantle beyond. It would be the last time she slept in Remnant until the bloody, smoke-riddled end.

 

Ϯ

 

Qrow Branwen was not a religious man—at least, not for some good many years now—but he had more and more come to question self- and predetermination since the passing of one of his beloved nieces. One yet remained, yes and thank you, but that brought little comfort. The one who’d gone to her path’s clearing had been strong, determined, and quite a warriorly picture. What could he turn to for explanation of her end, save for questions over the _Fate_ -driven path?

He did this more and more now. He did this as he wandered across Remnant, searching for clues and tracks. He did this as he crossed deserts and forests, mountains and jungles, chasing down every last whiff of his quarry. He did this every night when he lay down for restless, tossing sleep. But perhaps worst of all, he did this in the waking hours of every day (just as this day) when the sun yet teased its arrival and he rose to the pounding of another hangover. Why? Why? _Why?_

Why did it happen? Why was it allowed to happen? Why had he not been able to do _something_ about it?

There remained a hole in his memory, but he knew for certain his niece and her partner had never been meant for that contract. Not for the Winter Maiden’s Tear and _certainly_ not for the man in the mask. _The Man in Black_. No, that contract was to be kept aside for the veterans among the hunter and huntress elite. Those true hunters of beasts—whether man or Grimm—who had withstood both the test of time and the unending test of endless hunts.

“Shouldn’t have been yours, Spitfire,” he said to himself, looking at the haggard, aged face that stared back at him from the mirror. Just like he did every morning. No, he had not been able to rescind the contract after they took it, and no, he had not been able to convince any of the higher-ups to do something about it. But still he said so to himself every morning, that it should not have been hers.

_…should not have been_ anyone’s _…_

Qrow Branwen put away the small square of glass that served for his mirror, stood and stretched. He’d spent the last week crossing Mantle’s tundra, headed for the city of Constance. Had to keep as low a profile as possible when after prey such as his. Which was precisely why he had made this crossing on foot, from the outermost shoreline he could dock at, and precisely why he had slept the nights away in snowy caves or hand-hewn dugouts for the last seven days. Now the sun rose over the horizon far behind him, cast a glittering cavalcade across the snowy expanse before him.

And at the furthest edge of his vision, Qrow saw it, that glittering city amidst a frozen wasteland.

 

Ω

 

It was around midday that a most fortuitous thing happened to Levi. After his sojourn earlier to retrieve a needed thing and relive some old memories at the same time, he had decided to simply loaf about for the rest of the day. Certainly had plenty of it to pass and then some. But on his way around, walking lazily through the city, Levi spotted the last person he had expected to see. That same red hood. That same somehow-nervous, somehow-carefree gait. And when she looked about for but a moment, he saw those same silver eyes.

Couldn’t forget those, no sir, not ever.

For a moment he only watched her. It was clear as day she had not sensed his gaze, so he remained content to hang back. Then he saw her dip off through the Arboretum and quickly followed. Third Plaza bustled merrily behind him as Levi slunk into the trees and bushes and flowers, a ghost in his prance. Never lost sight of her either, that funny, red-hooded gal. It was when she stopped to actually smell some flowers that he broke cover and approached. Breathing evenly, Levi crouched beside her to observe a tulip.

_Time’s running out, Levi. Tick-tock, tick-tock, Levi. The light quickly fades, Levi…_

“Amazing, isn’t nature?” he said to her.

She tensed up immediately, stood and spun with inhuman speed. Levi thought even the dead thing might not be able to match her, had her leg not been so wounded years past. For a moment—so very brief no living thing could have sensed it—he saw fear in her silver eyes. Cautious curiosity replaced it the very next instant. Trying to appear as amicable as possible, Levi slowly stood.

“Sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?”

“A bit,” said the red-hooded woman. What was her name again? “Mister Scholar, right?”

Levi nodded to her and was pleased to see her visibly relax. She seemed to remember him and he indeed remembered their first meeting, but he could not presently recall her name. Not for his unlife, as it were.

“I like to come here on occasion, contemplate the world a bit,” he said, wracking his mind for her name. “It’s nice to see a student doing the same. Prithee, forgive me my imprudent greeting—I got ahead of myself. So many that attend the university act like they have not the time to spare for this place. Always so busy, always so preoccupied, always so…”

He drifted off, lost his train of thought. An oh-so-brief sense of vertigo washed over the man, but he showed this not. When the red-hooded woman spoke it snapped him right from it.

“Too frantic to stop and smell the flowers?” she suggested.

“Yes.” Levi smiled and barked a short laugh. “Exactly like that. No time to smell the flowers.”

“It really is a shame…” she turned away from him, looked at the bed of flowers he had disturbed her from. “I’d almost like to take one. Guess that’d be rude though, huh?”

“Why would it be rude?” Levi asked, honestly confused. “Furthermore, why would you want to take any? Don’t think me sentimental, but why kill such beauty for only temporary ownership?”

He watched her carefully. That question had clearly confused her, which was pleasing in a childish sort of way. By Jove, time was indeed running low. Every passing day seemed to bring him further along in this regression. Since the big booms and the light, he’d assumed he had all the time in existence to spare.

But was that really true any longer?

“I guess…” the woman muttered after a time. “I guess, I’d just like to have one. Not for me, but for someone else.”

Levi crossed his arms and shifted his weight. The long-coat crackled with his movement. Suddenly, a proper question came to mind—maybe the dead thing had been right to push him?

“Someone special?” he asked, and with his eyes he _implored_ her soul. Not much at first but it would suffice.

“Yes,” she answered, sounding dreamy and suddenly lost. “Someone _very special_ to me.”

Then, she turned away and approached a nearby oak. The thing was absolutely massive, clearly a transplant from an ages-old forest. It had to be as thick as she was tall, and the canopy above blocked out nigh all the sunlight that managed to pierce the cloudy heavens. She looked up at it, into it, and Levi noted her frowning face as she seemed to become lost in herself.

Finally, the name clicked. Seems the old noggin hadn’t gone out just yet.

“Ruby Rose, wasn’t it?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she answered in that same dreamy voice.

“Prithee tell, what consternates thee so?”

He watched her process his words, knowing full well that was the case. Took her a bit longer than he had expected, but Ruby finally turned around and met his eyes. Again, he _implored_ her, this time with greater force. It satisfied him to see it take proper root.

“It’s…” she started, then touched her forehead. Oh dear, had he come on too strong? “Well, my girlfriend, she’s going through a lot I think. Much more than she’s telling me. I’m worried about her. I want to help her, work through it with her, but I’m not sure I can…”

Levi watched her start to swoon, though she didn’t go the whole way. Aye, probably a bit strong, but that was good. It meant he could start the witchy-work that needed doing. And with what she’d just said, he became all the surer she was it. The light fades quick, fires burn low indeed, but maybe something could happen. _Something else_ …

Levi smiled, and Ruby swooned further, still not losing her feet.

“Thou lookest alarmed,” he said, keeping up that serene smile. “Hath I upset thee, fair Rose?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m fine, really, just a bit dizzy. I think…”

Further she swooned. Further Levi’s awe of her climbed, seeing that she _still_ kept her feet. He had seen others—warriors and hunters alike—simply up and crumble beneath his _imploration_. How interesting indeed that she should hold.

“I believe,” said Levi, turning away and relieving her for the nonce, “Miss Schnee would like _that_ flower best. And perhaps one of those, also.”

Now, as he said this, he pointed to a patch of grass where there were no flowers at all. When Ruby looked to where he pointed, there lay two lone, singular specimens—a bright-pink lily and a stalk of royal-violet monkshood. When she leaned over to pluck them, Levi felt something he hadn’t believed possible since the big booms, the light, and his punishment.

He felt sorry, knowing what those flowers meant.

“Thanks,” she said as she picked them. “You’ve got a good eye. Are you a botanist too, Mister Scholar?”

“No, just a man of many talents. Or, perhaps I should say, _interests_.” He gave her a shallow tip of his hat. “Now, might I enquire what worries you so about her? What has your girlfriend embroiled herself in?”

Ruby sniffed the lily, then said, “There’s this dance Friday. She told me she doesn’t want to go, but I think there’s more to it than that…”

“She doesn’t want to chance being found out,” Levi proposed.

“Yeah. But it’s more than that even, I’m sure. I think it’s also that, well… maybe she’s just tired of high society?”

“Or maybe she’s sick of being around all these blowhards that think they know what’s what?”

She giggled at that and turned to look at him again. He felt the wind pick up a bit and play with his hair, which seemed to mesmerize her. But beneath the veneer he saw what lay in her heart. For a second time he was sorry, but also pleased by the very same. Aye, she might just be…

_Might just be…_

“Love’s pretty fucked up,” he said, turning away. It was getting hard to look at her and that upset him a bit. “Draws us into these traps, see? Makes us act all funny, screw up ourselves, stop being who we are. Really nuggles the noggin.”

_Don’t push too hard, now._

“Nuggles?” Ruby parroted him.

_Good._

“Sorry.” Levi laughed. “Meant confuses, I s’pose.”

“Mm…”

He looked back, watched Ruby sniff the flowers in her hands then turn to gaze at the Arboretum in whole. She looked so lost at that moment that Levi decided it was enough. Sweat was peeking at her brow and a flush had crept hard into her cheeks. The seed was planted, aye, but had it not been done so before his intervention? Levi suspected as much, and thus decided to leave well enough alone.

“Perhaps…” he began, starting to walk away. “Yes, perhaps t’would be good if the two of you shared a dance, but one of thy own making and chosen location? Hearts embroiled so would do well to heed one another. Yes, I think so…”

The strange man took four steps, turned back and sucked in a deep breath. He released it slowly—started that even breathing—as Ruby turned to look for him, perhaps to say her thanks. This was indeed the case but Levi could not hear her over the gust of his lungs. And she, in turn, could no longer see or sense him in the slightest. A handy trick.

_Handy indeed…_

 

Λ

 

It is often the case that when two individuals pursue the same goal or ends, _Fate_ decrees they must meet. Knights-errant chasing down the same fell beast. Treasure hunters skulking toward a shared legend. Hunters tracking a creature through the woods, intent on catching supper, never knowing their mark is hunted by another. Yes, often will _Fate_ decree these two travelers to meet, being that their paths lead to the same terminus. The knights-errant might bicker, the treasure hunters squabble and deceive, and the hunters fight over their quarry. For it is their wont and their lot.

And in the city of Constance, nestled amid Mantle’s tundra, the two hunters—one approaching from without the city, the other hunting from within—whose prey awaited them there were indeed a part of _Fate_ ’s grand machinations, headed for the same terminus. Yet, it decided they were not to meet, not on Remnant’s soil.

As the day drew to a close and rain began to pour… As two roses danced within the place of their own journeys’ instigation… As a woman given to the life of the hunt and a man whom liquor and sorrow had dreadfully afflicted both made their moves…

_Fate_ decided they would not meet in this where or when.

 

Ω

 

Levi stood behind a streetlamp. The street before him lay as empty and dead as could be, soaked now with the pouring rain. He had been breathing heavily and evenly for quite a while now and it was beginning to make his head spin. The day had ended in a boggy, soggy, frigid mess of a downpour. Between that, the post-midnight dark, the too-little-light of the streetlamps, and the nigh-total barrenness of the area, it was surely a stretch of the imagination to think he might be seen. But Levi had felt eyes after him all day. He had been too busy to check into it, sure, but he still felt them. Thus, Levi breathed heavily and evenly, keeping up the glam.

It was a nifty, handy, dandy little trick after all. Why _not_ use it?

Breathing evenly, heavily, and quietly somehow, Levi watched the front of the Siren’s Call. He’d trailed the roses from the train station to the Call, and then had let them be on their merry way within. He had neither want nor need to keep complete tabs on them. There remained only one more bit of business to deal with this eve, after which he could have himself a nice little break. The students were getting one—the MTU gave two weeks at the end of the scholastic cycle, which seemed far too much to Levi—so he thought it wouldn’t be uncouth to do the same. Just one more bit of business to take care of, one more loose end to tie up in a neat little bow.

With a practiced hand, Levi removed a dainty silver pocket watch from his coat. He pressed the clasp atop it, listened to the old thing pop open, and looked. It was already the next day and well into it. No less than half the city would be getting up soon for work. This worried him a little, but he put it from his mind and returned the watch to its rest. Then he continued to wait, to look, to wonder passingly about the eyes he could _still_ feel, searching and sinister.

Those eyes were hateful; full of scorn and malicious intent, they cut as cold knives through his flesh and sent shivers all along his spine. Within the mind behind them he could feel intellect now dulled by ire. It felt familiar. Like the gaze of a friend from long ago, now resting on him with stranger’s eyes—minus the bilious loathing of course.

This train of thought came to an abrupt stop when Levi spied two women exiting the Call. One had hair as white as snow and the other locks like raven feathers, their tips dipped in fresh blood. He felt his lips begin to curl upward, catlike, as the relief of his vigil’s end finally drew close. Levi redoubled his breathing and reached into another pocket, this time withdrawing his keepsake from the Georgia State Capitol: a thin, leather-bound blue book. Both sides were checkered in a perfect quarter pattern, but otherwise the cover was blank. He opened it and looked at the first page, then shut it again and continued watching the women.

_‘Something old, something new,’_ he thought to himself.

They passed him walking briskly through the rain. Levi stepped out from behind the streetlamp and fell in step with them some few paces back. He made no sound, disturbed not the rain. The women chatted happily—almost drunkenly if he were to guess—with each other as they went. Levi tightened his grip on the book, pocketed it, and livened his step. Wanted to get a bit closer. Just a little…

Those eyes, oh how they carved into his back. He was sure, now, that someone watched him. Had to be close, but how could they? This glam was a gift from the dead one. Who could see through it?

Levi ignored that unsettling thought and continued drawing closer to the women, continued his steady breathing, started moving his right hand upward. With his left, he pushed the pointer and middle fingers out straight, curled the ring and pinky, hooked the thumb up and faced the palm toward them. When he felt close enough, Levi started to gesture with the right hand as well…

But was stopped.

 

Ψ

 

Blake looked at the revolver in her lap. She sat atop a small pile of pallets tucked in an alley just a few blocks down from the Siren’s Call. The faunus had no idea how heavily _Fate_ had been enacted on almost that very spot, nearly an entire year past. The only thing on her mind was the gun in her lap, sitting there and looking simply vicious. The curved sickle affixed under its barrel dripped clear from the rain, but if her plans went accordingly it would drip red ere the coming of dawn.

Oh yes, Blake Belladonna had been doing her homework well, had been carefully tracing the cowboy wannabe’s steps. Might have taken all she had to find him but she had done so in the end, and that was all that mattered to her. Now, retribution was at hand. He might be the dead thing, or he might tell her how to find the dead thing. Moreover, he might tell her how to _kill_ the dead thing, funny as that concept was. No matter what though, he would get his. For all of it—for herself, for Adam, and for Yang most of all—whether or not he knew something useful about the dead thing.

Deftly, Blake jerked the revolver to shut the cylinder. From her belt she withdrew a single shell, held it up and looked at it. The thing glinted a deep scarlet under the light of the streetlamp at the alley’s mouth. Schnee Company dust and it had cost a small fortune to acquire so many, none of which sat well with her. But it would get the job done against even a tank. Mister Cowboy Hat would never know what hit him, she was sure. That put a brief smile on her face as she stowed the shell and stood.

The rain was coming down harder now and she realized, on looking at her watch, that the next day had come nearly four hours ago. That was all right though. A smell had come to her, and her sensitive nose said it was right. Leather wax and a foreign odor—it was him, indeed. No one on Remnant smelled like that foreign bit, and she had only ever known a few to smell so heavily of leather wax.

Blake Belladonna stepped from the alley, turned left and headed along. The revolver bounced in rhythm with her step, tucked neatly in its holster at the small of her back. A wicked smile curved its way across her lips.

_He’s close_

 

Ω

 

Levi felt her long before the faunus could lay eyes on him. He had felt that gaze all night long—realizing now that she was indeed only looking _for him_ —so before those hateful golden eyes could fall on his shimmering, glamoured, barely perceptible form, Levi knew. He cast one last glance at the women only two yards before him, then spun on his heel and ducked into a nearby alley. The strange man was certain this was a mistake; cutting the connection too soon would surely have ramifications. That hardly mattered to him at the moment, however, as he knew that being revealed would be unfathomably worse.

So, he slunk into the alley, dropped the glam completely and waited. Her footsteps never came to him, so adept was the faunus at concealing herself, but Levi knew her approach all the same. She never saw him move as she stepped in front of the alley, still following a scent for lack of any other leads. He watched her but a moment, just long enough to see her look about twice, then pounced. Like greased lightning but still slower than the red-hooded gal.

What was her name again?

 

Ψ

 

“That wasn’t smart, kitty-cat.”

Blake heard him, but when she tried to reach for her revolver she found her body still. It would not budge, not one inch. In the next instant she realized her breathing had stopped as well, and that was when she came closest to panicking. No training could save one from such a feral fright. Without motion or breath, the faunus kept her wits by only a tenuous grip.

“You should know to leave well enough alone, now shouldn’t you?” Levi stepped out of the shadow of the alley. He was quite surprised to see her eyes turn to him, despite the glam over her. “Oh? Can still move, eh? Guess that’s how you two tricked the dead one…”

Levi walked around in front of her, leaned forward and looked her over. His nose couldn’t have been a foot from her own. Blake felt his eyes crawling all across her. Yet, the feeling was not alarming. The curiosity in it was palpable and not a trace of anything else lay behind his eyes. Frankly it almost insulted her.

“Damn,” Levi sighed, standing straight again. “I really hate getting my hands dirty, you know? Not that I’m averse to doing dirty work, but I simply hate killing things. Especially if those things walk and talk. People, you get me? I really don’t like hurting people…”

Blake’s eyes would not leave the cowboy wannabe. He paced around behind her and she followed him with her gaze until she simply could no longer. Then, from behind, she felt a gust of wind and heard an old, sleepy sound. Like metal turning after ages of disuse. Along with that came the sigh of ancient wood settling into much-protested movement. Lastly, a smell from behind—foreign like the cowboy, but different—wafted to her.

“Do you remember Grisham anymore?” Levi asked.

He stepped back into her sight and Blake glued her eyes to him immediately. She watched him raise one hand and make a funny gesture. The feeling of being wholly stopped left her from navel to crown and between the shoulders. Suddenly, she could breathe and turn her head once more, and upon understanding this she wasted no time in speaking.

“Tell me about the dead one,” she said.

“Why?” Levi asked, gentlemanly enough.

“Tell me about the dead one,” Blake repeated.

Levi took a step back and said, “You’re in no position to make demands, you know? I hold all the cards, kitty-cat. I hold your puppet strings, let’s say. Dig it?”

He lifted the other hand and flexed his fingers. To her amazement, Blake found herself moving: her left leg jerked forward, body following, and she took a step toward him when the right mimicked the left.

“What the fuck is this?!” she tried to scream. It came out as a hoarse whisper.

“ _Fate_ ,” said Levi. “That’s why you don’t cross her, dig? Cross _Fate_ and she’ll cross you right back. We’re all her wee puppets, but some of us get to play with the others if we’re good little girls and boys.”

The faunus looked deep into the emerald eyes of the cowboy wannabe. Surprisingly, she saw no malice in them. There only lay a thin curiosity and a deep, clearly visible madness within. Perhaps even a tenuous sorrow. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Please,” Blake said, another choked whisper. “ _Please_ , tell me about the dead thing…”

“What do you want to know?” asked Levi. He sounded as calm and amiable as was surely possible. That did not make her feel any better.

“Where is he?” she asked first. Then, after a quick breath, “What does he want with Ruby? Why did he kill Yang? Why did he kill all those other people? What’s his aim?”

She watched those emerald eyes. They never moved, just stared right back into her own. Suddenly, Blake felt her body lurch to the right. She began walking into the alley like a tin soldier. A thousand awful thoughts passed through her mind over what might await her, but in the end they all turned out to be wrong. Entirely flabbergasted, she only sat on a small crate near the alley’s mouth.

Levi followed, hunkered down in front of her and said, “I can’t tell you any of that, you know? Not even with a cherry on top of that please.”

Blake watched him rummage through his coat for a moment before withdrawing a cigarette. He lit it, took three quick puffs, and sighed a cloud of rank smoke. The brim of his hat barely stopped the rain from putting it out.

“It’s all hanging by a thread, girl,” he said. “I can’t afford to play anymore. None of us can—not me, not the dead one, and certainly not the rest of you. Most importantly, not the red-hooded girl. Ruby, wasn’t it?”

Blake nodded.

“Now tell me, do you not remember Grisham at all?” Levi went on, stopping once for another puff. “This is important so answer me honestly, okay?”

His voice was so gentle. It almost sounded like her father when he had tried to coax her to telling the truth once long ago. Blake had broken one of the more expensive vases in the house, and at the time she had only just begun to learn the value of the truth. As her father had explained, ‘twas better indeed to reveal it than to hide it and let it fester. The lesson had stuck.

“No,” said Blake, shaking her head weakly. “No, I don’t know any Grisham…”

“Grisham Devor? The old hunter that headed Beacon Academy’s practical application courses?”

“Not ringing any bells,” said Blake. “Why are you asking me, anyway? Does it matter who a dead woman does or doesn’t know?”

Levi stood. Blake felt the hold on her start to weaken a bit. She watched him turn his gaze heavenward and begin puffing on his smoke. Looked like a train stack. An idea came to her as the cowboy wannabe seemed to lose focus.

“First of all,” said Levi, “you’re not dead yet. I can’t raise up corpses to talk to them like the dead one, and even he can only do it if they’re really fresh.” He took another drag, failing to notice Blake’s movements. “Secondly, yes, it does matter. It matters a whole lot if you remember him or not. Might even be the turning point of all this, knowing whether the glam is still holding or not.”

Levi took another puff, blew it out. He missed the shift of Blake’s hand as she reached for something behind her.

“He’s not dead, cuz the glam would hold itself in place if he were. So, that being the case, I really need to know if you’re ho—”

Levi moved only just in the nick of time. The curved blade of Blake’s revolver missed his neck by a hair. It did, however, manage to take a chunk out of his left earlobe. The man howled a shocked bark of pain, reached for his ear with one hand and for the faunus with the other. With the hand outstretched he made a gesture.

Blake felt herself lock down entirely.

“ _That_ wasn’t smart at all, you mangy bitch,” Levi hissed. Blake was quite satisfied to see a fine trickle of blood between the fingers over his ear. “I tried to be nice, you know? I wasn’t kidding. I don’t like hurting people…”

He turned and started walking toward the mouth of the alley. Blake felt herself lifted by something unknown—levitating her from the ground nearly two feet—and floated along behind him like a balloon on a string. When they turned the corner to the left, Blake’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach at the sight before her.

It was an old door, older than could be comprehended, swung wide open and attached to naught but air. Beyond what should have been the doorway of it there lay a scene of utter horror. A moonlit promenade of brick and mason work, cast bright gold and orange with the flickering flames of a massive bonfire. Lanky, hairy, deranged madmen in tattered garb stood gathered around it. Some held axes, some pitchforks or cleavers or rudimentary shields of bound planks, but every one of them carried a torch. All chanted nonsense to the thing at the center which undoubtedly was the main attraction. Blake’s blood ran cold and panicked sweat pricked at her flesh on looking at it.

At the center of the mad mob, lashed with thick rope to a shoddy crucifix, was what looked uncannily like a beowolf. From the hips down its body had been torn apart. A smoldering line of intestine hung just below the navel, looked like overcooked sausage links. She wanted to turn away, wanted to puke, wanted to scream…

But Blake could do nothing at all.

“Grisham’s out there somewhere,” Levi said to her. “I reckon your only hope is finding him. Sorry, but I won’t do it myself. If you’re gonna be a dead woman, go and be one your own way. I’ve seen enough blood to last me forever…”

Blake did manage to turn her gaze in time to see Levi point at the door. In the next instant she was flying like a tossed ball. She felt herself pass through the door and all went blank. Save, that is, for memories that suddenly came flooding back to her. An old man with an oh-so-gentle smile, whose bombardier-blue eyes could calm even the most turbulent of hearts. A kind man who had done everything he could to prepare young hunters and huntresses for their deadly profession. A stalwart warrior whom she had had the honor of fighting beside on three occasions.

Blake remembered their old teacher from Beacon—hers and Yang’s—as she flew through the most unfathomable door she had ever seen.

 

Ϯ

 

Qrow splashed his face. Somehow, the water felt good despite the cheap smell of it. Not that he was one to discriminate of course. A place to sleep is a place to sleep, no matter how dreary or drab. It did strike him as funny that such a ritzy city as Constance _had_ a rundown little motel like this, but that was neither here nor there. The only concern on his mind was rest. He had been walking all day and into the next through snow and over ice. A rundown motel would do—would be welcomed, even, in comparison to a hand-dug cave in the tundra.

The old hunter looked up from the sink, stared at himself in the mirror. Suddenly, a pain ran through his head and doubled him over. Qrow fell to his knees, barely missing the sink with his cheek, and clutched his head. It passed as quickly as it came.

He stood, shaking his head, and looked at the mirror again.

“I’ll make this right, Spitfire,” he said to no one at all.

Qrow left the bathroom after that. He removed his shirt and boots then flopped onto the bed. The room was barren nearly—not even a tv set. Just the bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a mostly functional bathroom. Qrow stared at the ceiling, feeling a bit funny after that brief pain. But he brushed it off and turned over, switched the lamp off and started toward sleep.

As he drifted off, Qrow wondered why anyone would ever think it right to assign such a dangerous mark to a single huntress. He felt then, more than ever, that he had truly failed Yang.

She never should have gone alone on that assignment.

 

Ω

 

Levi clucked his tongue, hissed at the fresh bloom of pain from his ear, and spat at the ground. After the faunus passed completely through and the warble dissipated, he grabbed the door and slammed it shut. At that very moment, the door simply ceased to be.

“Goddamnit all, this isn’t good,” he said to no one at all. “Not good, very bad, quite an issue indeed…”

He turned from where the door had been. Looked down the road toward the train cradle. Levi knew there was no way he could catch up to them now. Even if he could, he knew there was nothing left in him to complete the connection with. Calling that door had used him up, he could feel it. Sweat pricked at his brow and ran in rivulets down his cheeks. His blood pumped sluggish and hard through his veins. His lungs were heavy and breathing came in short, choppy, haggard gasps. Worst of all, despite the cold rain now simply pouring over him, he felt as afire as a billet of steel in a furnace.

“Shit’s fucked,” he said to the rain, the harsh breeze, and his own queerly-shaped shadow on the wall at his right.

At first, Levi started to walk toward the train cradle. Maybe he’d screwed up bad tonight but there was nothing for it. Better to get a little rest and have at it later, he thought. He’d gone maybe ten paces to the cradle when he felt _The Call_.

Levi hung his head, turned around and started walking the other way.

 

Λ

 

For twenty long, grueling, simply impassable minutes, Levi Ansleif shuffled along through the rain. The wind had picked up to a harsh billow. It came in long bursts, chilling him to the bone, and the strange man wondered if maybe the weather stabilizers might be going wonky again. He’d heard it had happened once after Constance was first built and a second time during a particularly harsh winter storm. Really though, he merely wished to think about anything at all besides his screwup. The time for screwups to be allowed was long past.

He knew the dead one would say exactly that.

By the time Levi finally arrived at the memorial park, he was shivering—teeth clacking, body nearly convulsing—and wished sorely for his warm room at the MTU faculty dormitory. When he saw the dead one leaning against the statue of the SDC founder, he knew that wish would be long from fulfilled. Hanging his head low once more, Levi approached.

“Why do you insist on making my job hell?” asked the dead one.

Levi said nothing.

“Okay,” it went on, “then how about this? Why didn’t you deal with the cat before the roses, hm?”

Levi lifted his head, leveled a wary stare at his accuser and said, “I didn’t notice her.” He knew it was a lie—well, mostly, as he hadn’t been concentrating on the fact that he was being followed until it was too late—but he said it even still.

“Think I’m stupid, boy?” The dead thing pushed away from the statue, walked up to Levi until they stood far too close. “Do you think I’m not watching? Yeah, I’ve got my own stuff to sort out, but did you honestly believe I wouldn’t know the answers before I asked the questions?”

“Look, I thought _you_ handled the failures, okay?” said Levi. “If I’d an inkling the cat was after me, I would’ve taken care of her beforehand.”

“Even though you hate spilling blood?”

At those words, Levi froze. Beyond simply the cold, his body locked up tight and became as a block of ice beneath his neck.

“She didn’t need to die,” Levi said. “Neither blondie nor the cat. They didn’t have to die.”

“You know death means nothing any longer.”

“Even so.” Levi shifted his gaze away, backed up a few steps with a struggling, stuttering gait.

“Did you cover it?” asked the dead one.

“Just like Grisham,” Levi answered.

“And you’re sure it’s going to hold?” it pressed, stepping closer. “You seem rather exhausted, my old friend. Are you certain your glam will hold?”

“You’re too close,” Levi said, backing up a few steps more. “You stink to the heavens and I’m bad off enough as it is.”

The dead one came closer still, and suddenly Levi felt himself wrapped up in that same hold he’d put over the faunus. Not one bit of him would move. Then, his head jerked violently, causing his neck to crackle as if threatening to break. He found himself staring into the empty, putrid eye sockets of the dead one.

“I don’t give two shits if I smell bad enough to kill you, boy,” it said to him, “because if you die, I’ll just wake you right back up. You’re _mine_ until this is all over, come what may. We haven’t forgotten that pesky little detail, now have we?”

Levi could not respond. Didn’t seem to matter as the dead thing simply went on.

“You lost the connection, didn’t you? Ah, yes, I felt the line quiver and snap. That’s no good, Mister Ansleif, no good at all. Do you know what happens when the connection ends too soon? No? Well, allow me to elucidate…”

All of a sudden Levi felt his flesh grow hot, his mind begin to boil, and his lungs start to ache as if with powerful pneumonia. He felt his stomach try to turn inside out and vomited before he could stop himself. A horrendous delirium crept up from the back of his skull and threatened to settle in as if forever.

“See, Levi my man, people don’t deal so well when having their _fiber_ tampered with. If it’s done well, fully, and discreetly, they just get a funny little ache for a bit. Like when yonder red rose swooned under your _imploration_ , remember? But if it’s cut off too soon, or if it’s not done right…”

His afflictions worsened, and for the first time in a long while, Levi Ansleif called out in his mind to be put to rest once more. He screamed for the cold, yawning, restful dark he had been so cruelly snatched from.

“Well,” the dead one went on, uncaring, “let’s just say that poor, poor individual is in for one hell of a sick. If it doesn’t outright _kill them_ , of course. _You damn imbecile_ …”

The dead one hissed out the last three words with such venom, Levi believed his wish might be granted. Sadly for him, the afflictions receded all at once and he dropped to his knees, undone from the hold and coughing madly. He simply could not catch his breath no matter how he tried.

“I’m not going to let you off the hook for this,” said the dead one. It stepped to Levi’s side and crouched by him. “Don’t like blood on your hands, huh? Don’t like hurting things that walk and talk, huh? Well, remember the festival I was going to deal with myself?”

Levi continued to cough, but when the dead one said nothing for a time he took it as cue to respond. Lacking words, he nodded his understanding instead. As he did so, he kept on coughing and hacking and sputtering up a storm.

“It’s your job now, buddy-boy,” said the dead one. “You can dip your hands in that bloodbath and leave them to rot for all I care. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Levi shook his head, went right on hacking.

“Well, that’s too bad.” The dead one stood. “I’m done playing nice with you. If I had the luxury of time I’d just replace you. It’s rare to find someone that can stand up from the dirt, even with _my_ help, but it does happen. More often than you’d think.”

At last, Levi found some of his air. He quashed the coughs, stood slowly and raised his head. Didn’t want to look at the dead thing but still did so.

“I’d rather appreciate that, actually,” he wheezed.

“Just get your shit together and get your job done, mongrel,” said the dead one. “Any day now, time is gonna be up and we’ll all be up shit-river without paddles, floating on faulty life vests…”

“I—”

“No, you nothing,” the dead thing silenced Levi with one short motion. “Listen up and listen well, savvy? _You_ are going to keep a very close eye on the white rose. I don’t care how much you have to push yourself or how bad it hurts you— _you will_ watch her until it’s clear she won’t keel over dead. I have business to attend elsewhere, so this is your job. Fail it and I’ll find a way to punish you, I promise.”

It stopped and reached into its molding robe. A moment later the dead one held out a small silver bell to Levi. Couldn’t have been longer than his middle finger and looked dainty enough to be broken by a hard sneeze.

“If it gets bad enough, ring this. I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix it, but I’ll try.”

“Then why not just fix it now, before things have a chance to get bad?” Levi asked. He took the bell gently, reverently, and stowed it in his roomiest pants pocket.

“Because trying to fix it is worse than screwing up in the first place,” said the dead one.

“A last resort then?”

“Exactly.”

Surprising both—though, perhaps the dead one even moreso—Levi felt a bony hand rest on his shoulder and give it a light squeeze. No violence, no malice, and no hate. That squeeze said do your best. It said there was nothing else for it. That squeeze… was almost friendly.

“I’ll be back before summer rolls around, cowpoke,” said the dead one. “Should nothing come of this, that is.”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” said Levi.

It squeezed his shoulder once more, leaned in close and said, “We have to work together on this. I know I’m not the best partner, and you’re no winner either, but we need each other to work this out. Ya follow me?”

“Yeah.” Levi nodded. “Yeah, I follow.”

“Good.”

And with that, the dead one was simply gone. In his absence the strange man felt the return of the cold, the rain, and his awful state. Yet, amazing him immensely, Levi also found himself somewhat replenished. Seems the dead thing had left him a little gift.

Just enough to get him back to the MTU faculty dormitory.

 

Ѩ

 

Levi returned to his room and slept like the dead. It was rather cruel, really, that he had to wake from it only three hours later. To Winter pounding on his door this was, and she sounded pissed. Groggy, aching terribly, and entirely unable to muster his usual chipper attitude, Levi lugged himself from the bed and answered his door.

“What do you want?” he asked upon seeing her.

Winter jolted back, perhaps unprepared for the man’s tone or state. Then, with a clearing of her throat, she said, “I know you’ve been keeping close tabs on Weiss. So tell me, what was my sister up to last night?”

Levi shook his head, spilling about his messy, unkempt locks.

“I don’t have any idea, Miss Schnee. Why? Is something amiss?”

By the look in Winter’s eyes, he knew she’d bit. Hook, line, and sinker. Yet, there was no gumption in him to muster the smile that would normally have come for it. Levi simply watched the elder Schnee, his emerald eyes glaring and weary. Winter took another step back.

“I’m sure father will contact you about it soon,” she said. “Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t already. I only came to find out so I might inform him myself.”

Levi could tell without peeking that Winter was full of it. Still, he had to play along. That thought soured him even worse. All games all the time, welcome to the cycle!

“I assure you, Miss Schnee, I have no idea what your younger sibling may or may not have been up to last night. And _frankly_ , as I’m sure you can see, I’m not in the best state to find out today—that being said, if you do find out before me, go right on and let Mister Schnee know on my behalf. Would you be a dear and do that?”

He watched. Winter slunk back another step, then nodded. And with that, Levi closed the door. He wanted to return to bed and sleep a bit more but understood he could not. Thus, sighing and hemming and hawing, he made ready. No rank odor permeated the room today. Odd, really, since it usually hung around for days, but blessed and welcomed as well. It meant the dead one was not there, that it was nowhere near.

Just as he finished putting on his attire, Levi remembered fully the talk some four hours earlier. Knowing then what he had to do the strange man marched out his door, down the hall and toward the exit.

He stepped into the soggy day, breathing heavily and evenly.

 

Λ

 

We all know how it went from there, on the end of the roses. Now also, it is clear what that funky, odd, wannabe cowboy did as well. Aye, he watched those two roses, day-in and day-out for twelve days straight. There wasn’t much of it to do so with, but Levi Ansleif mustered every mote of himself to keep up his cover. He watched them from the corner of the heiress’s room, averting his gaze only as courtesy warranted. The dead one would have cussed him for that but Levi didn’t care. Manners maketh man, and he intended to remain man so long as he could. Even if the glamour drained him wholly; even if the maddening days that passed with the same hurry of cold molasses drove him truly insane.

Let it not go unstated how relieved he felt when the fever broke from the heiress; had Ruby herself not called a doctor, Levi would have rung the bell if it continued. He knew the stakes. He knew what came next if the white rose passed. He spent the day prior to her fever’s breakage clutching that dainty little bell. In the end, it was bent almost fully out of true and imprinted with the shape of his fingers. Might not have rung if he had tried.

When the day came that they went out—to Atlas City, for a concert and heart-to-heart congress—Levi decided his vigil was finally done. Yes, the dead one would have cussed him for that too, but he did not make this decision without reason. Firstly, he saw the connection had taken hold. Not fully, perhaps, but more than enough to get the job done. Secondly, he saw that his failure would not result in the catastrophic outcome both he and the dead one had thoroughly feared. But most of all, Levi saw—in the surety of their deepening bond—that the connection had not even been needed. He saw they would reach the point required of their own accord, their own volition, and their own drive.

Thus, Levi returned to his dormitory room after almost two weeks, stripped entirely of his clothes and settled into bed. He slept for three days after. Neither Winter nor any others bothered him. Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee began their journey down a garden path of cosmic design, guided by their love and spurred by their hearts. One Qrow Branwen, an old hunter of no less reputation than the once-venerable Grisham Devor, began his hunt for a cowboy-hatted madman in the University City. And Blake Belladonna, who found herself resident of a moonlit nightmare, started the last leg of her own journey, forgotten entirely to the world of Remnant and all its inhabitants.

Just like her old teacher that she now desperately searched for.


	7. Vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's it been... six months? I put this message on Fanfiction.net but I'll put it here as well, because all of you who read this at all honor me: I am sorry for how long this is taking and has so far taken. It's an insult to every one of you that reads my works. If you stick around and want to see the rest, know I will not let it from my mind until it is done. I swear this. For those that read this no more, whether earlier or now, I understand you fully. Thank you for what you did read.  
> But without further ado...

Chapter 5

Vertigo

 

Λ

 

_She fell softly but quickly. In the passage of but a few minutes. Beneath the buzz of fluorescent lamps. It was a small room, and she, in her place there, a small person. An insignificant speck. But without knowing, she stepped into eternity in her own way. Another tiny grain of sand plummeting through the hourglass._

_His voice was gruff, as it had always been. He spoke not with malice. He spoke not with disdain. He spoke with neither vexation nor fury…_

_Yet, his words broke her apart, as an off-course ship dashed against a craggy shore_ _._

 

Ϭ

 

The day had already begun in earnest. Monday, first of the second year. The students had assembled later this time—eight rather than seven—and so the sun sat higher, overlooking the grand and open auditorium. Commencement was underway and all gathered within were fit to bursting with pride, relief, and no small helping of trepidation for what yet awaited them. Yes, that first year was over, the MTU having claimed its toll, but so too did the next four begin.

Here and now.

Weiss stood beside Ruby, her mind clear and her heart calm. It was warmer this day, all things considered, but a strong breeze swept through intermittently. That breeze brought a jarring cold with it, as though washing in unhindered from the tundra beyond Constance. She had worn a small coat over her usual attire, and thus thought nothing of that slight nip. Beside her, however, shivering every time that breeze came through…

“I told you to wear your cloak, or anything at all really,” said the heiress.

“It was sunny when we woke up,” said Ruby, shivering again as another gust came. “I thought you were overreacting…”

“And _I_ had the forethought to check the weather reports. ‘Sunny with a high of twenty-three; strong winds, expect chill factor down to sixteen.’”

Ruby said nothing, only looked away and toward the crowd. It fair surrounded them just as the first commencement, but no matter which way she looked, the MTU’s toll could be clearly seen. Weiss followed her love’s eyes, saw the relieved and worried faces of the students. There might only have been two hundred now, all in all.

“We really made it,” said Ruby, still turning her gaze over the crowd. “Weren’t there a thousand or so last year?”

“There were.” Weiss nodded her head, looked the other way. Up and toward the lectern at the front of the assembly. “Very few can make it. Be proud of yourself, Ruby.”

“It wasn’t just my effort, Weiss, and you know it…”

Suddenly, the heiress felt weight against her shoulder. She looked Ruby’s way. The woman had moved to lean on her, head against her left arm. The first thoughts that met this were to be expected, of course, but the heiress quickly shooed them off.

“Worried someone will see?” asked Ruby.

“Not at all,” Weiss lied.

“I would be,” said Ruby before standing straight again.

“What I’m worried about,” said the heiress, throwing her arm over Ruby’s shoulder and pulling the woman close, “is my partner catching a cold because she wouldn’t dress for the weather.”

The heiress was warm even through her coat. That heat reached Ruby straightaway and settled her chilled shiver. Saying nothing more, she nuzzled into Weiss’s grip and let herself be held. None around them seemed to notice this, or even register that anyone had moved.

Yes, the students gathered within the open auditorium—basking under a veritable kaleidoscope, warm and colorful—were relieved, were proud, and were excited. Yet they were also quite nervous over the coming days, weeks, months, and years. The great, grey walls of granite did yet bid feelings of entrapment. The cold stone under them, over them, and all around them seemed to foretell disaster and despondence. And even despite the warm sun, the many colors born from the stained glass above…

Something bade ill.

“I love you,” whispered Ruby, unsure she could be heard.

Weiss only squeezed her a bit tighter.

Then, a squeal came from the speakers all around. Both women (and all the rest) cast their gaze to the lectern. There stood the hunched figure of the dean, his long beard as white as the driven snow. Behind small glasses that had fallen down his nose, milky eyes, almost entirely blind, peered at the crowd. He pushed the glasses back in place, cleared his throat, tapped the mic.

“Hello again,” he said. “I am most pleased to see as many of you as there are. And now, I hope you have seen the truth of my words to you the year previous…”

There was no rumpus, no din, not even the faintest stir of life among the crowd. All watched with baited breath. All awaited the dean’s words, still and quiet as the grave.

“Very good.” The dean looked behind himself and nodded to a tall, beanpole of a woman. She stepped forward and stood beside him. “Now then, allow me to give you all a proper welcome to the Schnee Dust Company’s Management Training University: This is Anais Haevlyn— _Miss_ Anais to those attending this university—and henceforth, she shall serve as your dean. While I realize the abruptness of my announcement, let this serve as notification that, effective today, I am retired.

“The Schnee Dust Company is, first and foremost, a corporation meant to foster profit. We are no family. We are no comrades or compatriots. Rather, we all work toward the goal of raising the company, as a whole, to ever greater heights of efficacy and efficiency. Come what may, we are the gears that turn and drive this machine ever onward…”

The old man trailed off, his voice quavering slightly at the end. Weiss thought nothing of this, but Ruby could clearly see he held some regret or another in him. Beside him, the tall Anais showed hardly the slightest hint of being alive; she stood as nearly a statue, hands crossed in front of herself and eyes regarding only the direction ahead of her, focusing on nothing at all.

Those eyes, violet and almost looking to glow, were unreasonably beautiful.

“As such,” the once-dean went on, “we must all understand and accept that corporations are everchanging. Should a gear be ground down by time, its teeth dulled and useless any longer to turn the rest, then it must be immediately replaced. Lest, of course, the rest be harmed.”

He swept one hand over the crowd and said, “I would encourage all of you to bear this in mind. Never let yourselves slip into idleness. Never accept anything less than your best. Perhaps most of all, always push your best to be better. This is the only way you will succeed, both within this university and within the company…”

At this, Ruby could feel the heiress’s grip around her tighten once more. Only this time it was no gentle thing, no loving thing. Her grip felt incensed. Her form shook ever so slightly, and Ruby knew full well that Weiss was not cold. She turned her silver eyes up and saw an utterly blank expression upon Weiss’s face that she had nearly forgotten to exist. It was, unmistakably, the expression of the woman she had first met at the MTU, whose name was Weiss Schnee and whose station in life was heiress apparent of the Schnee Dust Company.

“I bid you all both a fond farewell and a vigorous cheer,” said the once-dean, pulling Ruby’s gaze back to the lectern. “So long as you keep these truths in mind, any supposition or illusion may offer you solace. Never accept mediocrity, I implore you, and never cease your forward march.”

And with that, he merely stepped away, limping along on his cane as he descended the stairs behind the lectern. Once he disappeared from sight, Anais stepped forward. The breeze came again and billowed her hair out to her right. Now seeing it fully, nigh all were amazed. It was black as polished obsidian and surely as long as she was tall. But when she spoke, that amazement—that slight break from the oppressive atmosphere of the commencement—left at once.

“Hello to you all,” she said, and her voice was as death made flesh, chilling and biting to the very soul. “I hope you will take the former dean’s words to heart. Furthermore, I _expect_ that you will continue to live up to the standard of performance that has brought you this far. As I have been personally appointed by Jacques Schnee, know that no slack of any sort will be tolerated. We are, _one and all_ , the Schnee Company. And we shall, _one and all_ , uphold that name.”

Anais looked over the crowd. Pleased to see them as they were, she smiled. It looked so odd, that simple gesture, not unlike a beautiful disaster fast approaching.

“Let us give up a round of applause for the former dean,” she said, and so they did. After perhaps half a minute of thunderous clapping, Anais stuck up one hand, palm forward, and hushed them, saying, “You are dismissed,” and nothing else.

The commencement ended with that. No other faculty stepped forward. No more was said to the gathered crowd of perhaps two hundred second-year students.

 

Ϯ

 

Lucius found himself rather underwhelmed with the commencement. Oh, how furious his father had been upon hearing of his expulsion. How sure Lucius had then been that this changing of deans—per the request of his father, made directly to Jacques—would be more of a spectacle. But the once-dean had made no fuss and Anais, his replacement, had made nothing of it at all. Aside from a call to applause, that is.

How simply trivial a matter it had turned out to be.

Thus, when the commencement ended, Lucius left for the MTU bookstore with a rather dour mood settling in. Clearly Winter was beyond the grasp of his retribution, and so too had the once-dean turned out to be. He walked along the winding concrete path northwards, turning these things over in his head, ruing his lack of persistence in seeing _someone_ punished for his mistreatment. He was just passing the arboretum and nearly to the common area—where the various stores and outlets of the MTU campus were housed—when he spotted them.

Something that might take his mind off the disappointing commencement.

 

Ϭ

 

Once the commencement ended and the students gathered began to disperse, Weiss found herself rather reluctant to move. She stood, as she had for most of the ceremony, with her left arm around Ruby, holding the woman close for both comfort and warmth. Of course, she herself was fine with the weather, the warmth being purely for Ruby’s sake. But after that scene with the (now-once) dean, the heiress’s stomach twisted up in knots and her blood boiled in her veins.

“I don’t mind being held like this,” said Ruby, “but your grip is a little tight, Weiss…”

“Hm?” hummed the heiress in response.

Then she looked over, at Ruby, and realized.

“Oh, sorry,” she said quickly, releasing the smaller woman from her grip. “I didn’t mean to lose track of myself.”

“That’s alright.” Ruby offered a small, genuine smile.

“Mm…” Weiss hummed, assenting, turning her gaze back to the empty lectern and stage. That woman, Anais, had had a most unsettling look about her to the heiress. She did not like one bit of what had just happened.

“Are you okay, Weiss?” Ruby asked.

The heiress heard the honest concern in her love’s voice and could not bring herself to lie for a second time. She turned to her again and asked, “Would you humor me with a little walk?”

“Of course,” Ruby answered immediately.

Weiss said not another word, only took hold of Ruby’s hand and pulled her along. They walked down one of the eight paths leading from the open auditorium, going who-knows-where so far as Ruby could tell. Until, that is, trees and bushes and flowering shrubs began to crop up, little by little, as they clearly neared the campus arboretum. It wasn’t so magnificent as the one in Constance proper, but it was a sight to behold nonetheless.

The heiress led on, her grip tightening over Ruby’s hand and her palm beginning to sweat. They left the walkway only a few yards in, broke off into the trees and shrubbery. Then, ere long had passed, they came to a wide-open clearing. Blooming clover covered the grass. It looked like freshly fallen snow until a slight breeze came along and disturbed the tiny white blossoms, displaying them for what they truly were.

Ruby followed behind Weiss, trying to keep step with her love’s haste and not fall over, sad to be trampling the delicate blossoms. When at last they stopped, it was at the center of the open garden. Ruby looked around, panting slightly, and took note that they were entirely obscured from view by the trees.

How had she overlooked such a place existing within the MTU campus?

“I’ll be quick about this, I swear,” said Weiss, sounding as out of breath as Ruby felt.

“Don’t worry,” said Ruby. She pulled her hand from Weiss’s and placed it on her shoulder, gave another genuine, gentle smile.

“Yes, well…” The heiress cleared her throat, took a deep breath. “That was a rather… _innocent_ display of it, but I hope you see now what this company is like. Most big companies are like this, don’t misunderstand me, but the Schnee Company is much less reserved about it. We will prune the numbers without batting an eye, shake on any deal as long as it profits us. We won’t hesitate to cut down any who get in our way…”

Weiss met Ruby’s gaze. Silver to icy-blue. She was relieved to see only the encouraging, perhaps loving stare she’d come to know so well. But when she opened her mouth to continue, Ruby stopped her.

“Why are you saying ‘We’ like you’re one of them?” she asked.

To which, of course, Weiss could only tilt her head in slight confusion.

“I… I _am_ a Schnee,” the heiress answered. “I _am_ one of them.”

“But you’re not _like_ them,” said Ruby.

And then it donned on the heiress; she took a step back and clapped one hand over her mouth. Something snapped— _violently_ —within her, and a torrent held back for years came forth. Tears spilled down her cheeks, over her hand, dripped from her chin like a faucet left going.

“ _I_ know you’re not like that, Weiss,” said Ruby, stepping closer. “ _I_ know how kind you are at heart. I’ve seen it. I don’t know what got you so worked up, but you can rest easy about it, whatever it was. I would never think you were like that.”

Weiss only stood there, crying uncontrollably in utter silence, as Ruby closed the gap. The shorter woman wrapped her love up in a tight hug and squeezed, burying her face against the heiress’s collar in the same motion. After a time, Weiss returned the gesture. She removed her hand from her mouth, wiped the tears from her cheeks and hugged Ruby in turn, laying her right cheek against the top of Ruby’s head. The scent of lilacs—powerful from this close—washed through the heiress, calming her.

“Thank you,” Weiss whispered. She hugged Ruby a bit tighter.

But Ruby said nothing in response. Rather, she leaned back from the embrace, met the heiress’s mournful stare, and then closed the space between them. She pressed her lips to Weiss’s. They stayed that way for a time. Beneath them, the snow-white flowers bent and swayed with the wind. A small, hushed symphony played for the two women as the breeze carried through, rustling the leaves in the trees and whistling through their boughs.

At last, they broke away, leaning back to stare into each other’s eyes, arms still wrapped around one another. Still unspeaking. Still basking in that momentary congress of hearts. Still sinking, evermore, down into the depths of their new truth.

Weiss moved to say something first. A dove, white as the driven snow, stopped her when it lit upon her elbow. Of all the things to see—this place being so far from its habitat, surely—that was the last either woman expected. Both turned to look at it. The dove, in turn, only cooed as it seemed to regard they, as well, with its beady eyes. It was so close, the women could see those eyes were a deep, mahogany brown. Then, as quickly as it came, the dove took wing and soared away.

They watched it go.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of, Weiss,” said Ruby, watching the bird until it was gone over the trees. “Please tell me…”

Weiss squeezed her love tightly to her and said, “Truthfully, I thought I was afraid of messing up my dream.”

“Then, what is your dream?”

“ _Was_ , you mean?” Weiss half asked, half said. “What _was_ it?”

Ruby turned back and said, “Yeah, I guess. What _was_ your dream?”

The heiress broke her gaze from Ruby’s silver eyes, leaned forward and pressed her face to the hollow between Ruby’s neck and left shoulder.

“Depose my father,” she said at last, muffled somewhat. “It isn’t like I want—or _wanted_ —power, though. I only wanted people to think something better of my family’s name. I wanted people to hear the name Schnee and not immediately think of shady business deals, or terrible working conditions, or nepotism, or… well, any of the awful things they think about us that are more or less true…”

“You don’t want that anymore?” asked Ruby, leaning her head over, hugging the heiress tighter.

“I do.”

“Is it still your dream?”

A brief silence, then, “No,” said Weiss.

“What is it now?”

The wind blew hard and sudden, almost bowling both women over. It was miserably cold this time and bit with all the deathly chill of the tundra beyond. Neither knew it, but one of the weather stabilizers had just failed. The unseen dome over Constance was gone. All the great fury of the tundra began a slow march toward the heart of the University City.

Weiss shivered mad in Ruby’s grasp; Ruby stood stalwart, showing no notice of the cold.

“You,” said Weiss at last. “I don’t want to lose what we have…”

“Do you think you _are_ losing it?” asked Ruby, calm and serene, smiling warmly.

“We’re moving so fast,” said Weiss. “On top of that, it’s not like… I can’t just…”

Ruby moved to stop the heiress with another kiss. This one lasted not so long, but long enough. When it was done she pushed Weiss away, gently, so they stood apart, but kept her hands on Weiss’s shoulders. Like that, Ruby looked into her eyes. They were such a gorgeous shade of blue, icy indeed but now red and a bit puffy. The woman clearly held yet more tears at bay. Ruby wondered how long she had been doing that today; had she simply not noticed earlier?

“You said you want this after the concert. When we were at that park…” Ruby kept up her stare. It seemed as though Weiss would look away, but she did not. “But life can’t always be about what _we_ want, can it?”

The heiress slowly shook her head, keeping her eyes on Ruby’s.

“I told you not to let me ruin your life, Weiss. I meant it too. I _mean_ it…”

Again, a shake of the head was her only response.

“It’s worrying me too, Weiss. That you might lose something very precious to you if— _when_ —what we have comes to light. How long has it been on your mind like this? How long has it been eating at you?”

“Long enough,” said the heiress, her voice choked.

“Think the new dean has something to do with it?”

“I don’t know…”

“Think someone’s been talking? Winter, maybe?”

“No.” Weiss shook her head fiercely, broke the stare at last. “If anyone’s talking, or has talked, it wouldn’t be her. It _couldn’t_ be her…”

“So, it _does_ matter to you if people see?”

Ruby squeezed Weiss’s shoulders a tad, to emphasize. Weiss met her eyes again. The wind blew. The trees sighed, the grass and clover blossoms bowed. Cold, unmitigated tundra air bit at the both of them. Neither paid it any mind, though gooseflesh did prickle fiercely all over them.

“I want to say no, it doesn’t,” Weiss whispered, “but I won’t lie to you, Ruby… It _does_ matter if I still want to be what I’ve been striving my entire life to be.”

Once more, good and strong and affectionate, Ruby pulled Weiss into a hug. Neither knew then that it would be the last they shared so for a good while. The axe had been raised and now stood ready to drop, and when it did, it would strike right for the thin, delicate thread of crimson that entwined them. No, neither knew that the eyes of another regarded them, breath held and heart thumping giddily. But there _was_ that warm hug, at least, to fight both the cold of the unhindered tundra breeze and the days of woe yet to come.

“Too slow, too fast, too much, too little, too soon, or not soon enough…”

Ruby whispered into Weiss’s ear, their cheeks pressed together, arms about one another…

“Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve made my choice. I know what I want, and I’ll do everything I can to make it so. And I know you _think_ you’ve made your choice too, Weiss… but you haven’t, and that’s okay. There’s still time, I think. But even if there isn’t it’s still okay.

“I know you heard me in the crowd, at the commencement, but I’ll say it again: I love you, Weiss.”

“I love you too,” said the heiress, feeling her knees might buckle.

“But love isn’t something that follows any formula. It’s not some problem that can be solved, or equaled out, or even stated. We’ve got to decide what we want, what we’re willing to give for it, and roll with the punches…”

“Yeah,” said Weiss. “Yes, you’re right. But Ruby, I’m… _scared_. I think there’s a way I can have both the things I want—a way I can avoid choosing—but I’m terrified to try it.”

“Why?”

This time, it was the heiress who pushed Ruby away. And this time, it was not a gentle or soft action. She shoved with a modicum of force. Ruby had to take a few steps to absorb it and Weiss nearly fell over. She did keep her footing somehow, but only barely.

“If I screw it up,” said she, shaking a tad and not for the cold, “then I might lose both. I know and believe what you’ve said, but Ruby, you’ve never seen the me I _used to be_ … If I try this—if I try to have my cake and eat it—then you _will_ see. A right and proper Schnee, living up to every awful thing said about that name. So, if my gambit doesn’t work… If I lose that fight, too, even fighting like an honest-to-goodness Schnee…”

“You’d still be the Weiss I’ve come to know and adore,” said Ruby. She stood her ground, making no move to close the distance.

Weiss looked up and met a resolute silver stare.

“I’d have to act just like my father…”

“But you would still be _Weiss_.”

“There’s no going back if I start this. If I start…”

“You’ll see it through, and you’ll still be you.”

Now, ever so slowly, Ruby took a step forward. Weiss watched her approach. She did not back away, but rather, collapsed to her knees. The clover blossoms and soft grass beneath broke most of the impact. Even still, her knees reddened quite immediately.

Ruby closed the last few steps quickly then, knelt down beside the heiress and said, “If you think you can have both, then go for it. Don’t let me hold you back no matter what, you hear? Even if it’s not true—and it isn’t, the thought of me leaving you for that—you can’t let the _fear_ hold you. Just… _do it_ …”

She took hold of Weiss’s hands—left first, then right—in each of her own. She stood. It felt as though the heiress would resist, would try to remain on the ground, but she relented and stood with Ruby’s help. And this time, there was no hug. Ruby only lifted their interlaced hands to chest-level and stepped in close.

One short, sweet kiss they shared as the wind billowed all around them, obscuring the synthesized sounds of a few fake shutter-clicks and the hissed profanity that followed them.

“I need to go back to my place to get ready for work later,” said Ruby, breaking away from the meeting of their lips. “This will be the only time I have to so early, though, okay? After tonight I won’t be bothered with it until later in the evening…”

Weiss sniffled, then asked, “Would you like me to pick up your books while I’m getting mine?”

“Actually, that would be wonderful,” said Ruby. “I completely forgot to order them over the break.”

“Order them? From where?”

Ruby tilted her head, confused. “From that website, The Jungle. Like every other student does these days.”

Suddenly, the heiress’s eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed a tad, and she seemed to become visibly miffed.

“Those charlatans have taken quite enough of our business,” she said. “If it’s all the same to you, I will purchase our books from the _campus_ bookstore. At least the quality will be assured that way.”

Ruby couldn’t stifle the giggle this brought forth, and just like that, the serious air dissipated. For the nonce, that is. Weiss—seeing her love so abruptly cheerful—could not long resist the infectious chitter. She followed suit and they laughed together for a time, perhaps as long as a minute. When it finally left them, both felt a bit stiff in the cheeks and a bit sore at the diaphragm… But they felt good.

And so, too, did their quickly absconding observer…

 

Ϯ

 

Lucius retreated as quietly, and as quickly, as he could manage. He did not let his gaze leave the direction of that insipid Schnee until—looking back a quick glance to be sure—he knew the arboretum had given way to the open area of the commons. Once out of the thickest portion of the trees, Lucius turned tail and bolted.

He ran for five good minutes, until at last his lungs burned too badly and his legs felt fit to lock up. Of course, he had never been much for running before. Why would he? A little light cardio and some simple aerobics to keep in health was all he needed. No sense in being athletically capable when he would never have to do lower-class work.

A quick look around told him he was good and clear. Lucius stood straight, staggered over to a nearby bench, and sat down. Then, like an excited child with a wrapped-up gift, he pulled his scroll from his pocket. By Jove, his hands were shaking and sweating, but he had it! Something to show that bitch, _Winter_ , what for…

Lucius grinned, slight and slanted, as he looked through the few captured images.

 

α

 

True to her word, Ruby made straight for her apartment and readied for her first evening back at the Siren’s Call. This took her little time at all. With things packed—a change of clothes and little else—she then headed for the train station just nearby and boarded. On the way she read a bit more from one of the books Weiss had gifted her none too long ago. Sure, she knew the journey of Roland of Gilead backwards and forwards, coming and going, but not only did it ever fascinate her, it was also a present from Weiss. She would read them time and again until they fell apart, rotted by time and use, if given the chance. Perhaps that was simply the kind of woman she was?

Upon arrival, Ruby met with Mahogany and the rest of the staff and dancers. They had some little bit of pre-reopening work to do, which he elaborated on at length, that would surely tide them until the doors were flung open. As the short meeting went by nothing came Ruby’s way from Mahogany. No askance look or hidden gesture, nothing to indicate they had made any sort of special arrangement or what-have-you. And when it was over she went to work, joining the others until it was time.

The work got done. Ruby joined her fellows in the changing rooms, made ready—a sleek dress of shimmering, opalescent cerulean this night with a ruby-red mask sporting carved tear-streaks of shimmering, golden dust—and did her job. It was no different than it had been before her leave, save for the distinct lack of any shame in her bosom. There remained a hint of embarrassment in her but such was part and parcel of the profession, she assumed. At least they had the masks, and she her evening-donned wig of flaxen locks.

For two hours Ruby Rose was Chrysanthemum, and though she looked across the crowd as much as she could manage—what with the bright lights and general din of it all—she could not spot the heiress’s obsidian-black mask or hooded long-coat. But this deterred her none. Chrysanthemum danced her shift away, swaying elegantly and light of foot, turning and twisting and pirouetting to the songs that played. And when it was over, she retreated to the dressing rooms, washed the makeup off, and changed as quick as she could.

Ruby left the Siren’s call at two in the morning, jogging for the train and wondering if Weiss might still be awake to text.

 

Ͼ

 

Also true to her word, Weiss had gone straight for the campus bookstore, walking slowly there and daydreaming as she went. She had hoped to do the shopping _with_ Ruby but such things as work could not be avoided, this she knew. At least it would be the only foreseeable night her love had to be off for it so early. That little bit made her feel better.

On arrival, the heiress set quickly and methodically to work, scouring the aisles and picking out the textbooks they would need in pairs. She only managed the first three on her own, however, before the weight of the thick tomes (for that, in all honesty, is what the MTU books were) overcame her. Six books stacked in her quivering arms, Weiss started for the checkout to procure a cart.

“Is that Weiss Schnee herself I spy?” pondered a man’s voice, aloud, stopping the heiress at the aisle’s mouth.

“It is,” answered she, “but I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment, so do forgive me for not properly greeting you, whoever you are. If you’d excuse me, I simply _must_ —”

“Get a cart?” offered the man. “Here you go.”

Weiss felt the weight of two books leave her arms, and her view cleared enough to see Lucius before her. She gave him an awkward smile, thin and polite but not the slightest bit friendly.

“Oh, hello there,” she said. “Lucius, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lucius took two more books and placed them on the cart beside him, which blocked the end of the aisle as the heiress now saw.

“I hope you’ll forgive Winter her… outburst, regrettable as it was,” said Weiss, unable to think of anything else.

“All water under the bridge, Miss Schnee.”

“Please, just Weiss is fine.”

Lucius stopped as he was about to take the last two books from her. He too gave a polite grin and said, “All right then. Think nothing of it, _Weiss_. My father has already settled the matter in any case, so there’s nothing to be wroth about.”

The heiress set the last two books on the cart, then stretched her arms. She had only held the things for a short while but the weight—twenty pounds at the least, perhaps even thirty—had done her a toll, that much was certain. Weiss made a mental note to buy a couple small barbells at some later point. Such lack of endurance simply would not do.

“Finding everything well enough?” Lucius asked.

“Oh, just fine, thank you,” said Weiss. “I have three of ten, and I’m sure I know where the other seven are.”

Lucius looked from the heiress to the neatly stacked books on the cart. Then he looked back at her.

“I count six there,” he said.

Weiss’s heart sped up a bit.

“I’m purchasing my partner’s as well, if you must know,” she said with a slight huff.

“That’s rather generous of you,” said Lucius. “I haven’t known the Schnees to be so generous all that often. This partner of yours… is she a prodigy of some sort? Or has she _otherwise_ earned your favor?”

Weiss visibly shook, and inwardly cursed herself for it. Before more shivers could wash through her, she gathered herself and let out a bit of the old Weiss Schnee. An altogether unpleasant feeling and action, yes, but there was nothing for it.

“That really is none of your business, Lucius,” said Weiss, now cold, collected, and aloof.

“Perhaps not,” said Lucius, “but perhaps it _is_ your father’s business, no? I’m sure he would like to be preemptively informed of the… hm, how shall I say it?”

Lucius made a blatantly fake performance of consideration, then suddenly snapped his fingers.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. In a much more hushed tone he said, “I’m sure _Jacques_ would like to know of the dalliances of his company’s heiress before such a thing could have a chance to come to light. Wouldn’t you think so?”

Unshaken at first, Weiss simply bristled with fury and indignation, and readied to chew out the pompous man before her. In the flight of it all, she really didn’t care if she made a scene. But what Lucius did next stopped her cold.

He pulled out his scroll and held it, close to himself, with the screen facing her. A vicious sickness washed through the heiress from her stomach outward, reaching every bit of her very being. A true nausea beyond anything physical. On a timer of maybe three seconds, the scroll played a slideshow of ten, maybe twelve pictures. They had been taken at the campus arboretum. Only two subjects were in them, but the circumstances and events the pictures displayed were damning without doubt.

For Weiss, that is.

“I’ve already forwarded them to his private mail,” said Lucius while Weiss merely stared at the screen, mouth agape and body frozen. “ _My_ father gave it to me, in case I needed to complain about your sister’s rash idiocy again. I didn’t think he had any business seeing these, so I sent them myself. It’s only right for the company, wouldn’t you say? Sure, Schnees giving each other preferential treatment is only to be expected, but there’s no need to bring in outsiders like that…”

She wanted to yell. She wanted to hit him. Ball up her fist and swing, blindly, toward the general direction of his face. She wanted to buckle her knees and sink to the floor. But her mind went blank, her tongue felt fat, her heart began to race, and her stomach lit aflame.

Weiss could do naught but listen.

“What’s more,” Lucius went on, “an outsider like this _Ruby Rose_ —whether or not she’s your partner—really has no business attending this university at all. I didn’t pry into her record much, I assure you, but I gave it a glance. Her scores on the entry exam were simply _abysmal_ …”

Without warning, Lucius thumbed the switch on the side of his scroll and pocketed it. Yet still, Weiss could neither move nor respond.

“I seem to have left you speechless. Sorry for that, _Weiss_. I really meant no harm after all. I merely wished to be an upstanding member of the Schnee Dust Company and alert our company head to a possible issue, ere it could bloom into a full-blown scandal. Nothing personal, yes? Just good business.”

Lucius patted Weiss’s shoulder, pushed the cart out of the way and left.

Weiss finally regained herself enough to move just as he exited the bookstore. She sank to her knees, then to her rump, and finally sat against the bookshelf behind her. Her world was spinning. Her mind was melting in her skull, she was sure. Little blooms of static popped in and out of the corners of her vision. Then, before she knew it, Weiss felt another hand on her shoulder, this time shaking her lightly.

“Miss Schnee,” said a store employee.

She was surely around Weiss’s age by the look of her, and had a nametag placed at the top-left of her blue smock and on her visor. However, the heiress couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The lights were on, aye, but her mind was down for the count then and there. It felt like she had gone a few rounds of fisticuffs with a professional huntsman, in her head at least.

“Miss Schnee, are you alright?” asked the employee, whose name was Megan.

“I…” Weiss managed, but that was it. She could get nothing more out.

“Did something happen?” Megan pressed. “You’re crying… Are you hurt?”

_‘Oh, something like that,’_ thought Weiss.

She said nothing at all.

 

Ͼ

 

Some way or another, Weiss made it back to her dorm room. All of it had gone by in a blur. The employee— _Megan_ she thought, or maybe _Melanie_ —had helped her up and summoned the campus security, perhaps not in that order, who may then have aided her to her room. She really could not recall. Whatever had transpired, however, Weiss mostly came to around one in the afternoon.

No lights were on, her door was still open, and a sweating glass of water that had had ice in it (which was now fully melted) sat just in front of her on the coffee table. She, herself, sat on the edge of the couch. Afternoon sunlight drifted in and warmed her, lit the room, but Weiss paid it no mind. She paid nothing any mind. Her head was still swimming, her mind blank and dull but mostly aware again. Thoughtless. Numb. Reeling, in no other words, but quickly beginning to ponder the idea of locking herself in the bathroom for the nausea still burning in her stomach.

She must have sat that way for the last hour, Weiss decided, and she then proceeded to sit that way even longer. Could this be what the old military doctors had coined shellshock? Not the persisting effects of a traumatic event, but the immediate disorientation of being under artillery bombardment for the first time? Or maybe it was both and this was just the start…

The heiress drifted off in her mind—eyes open and fully awake—like so for another hour, until at last her scroll snapped her from it with its shrill chirp. She had received a message. Of course, she had no inclination to look at it. Not then. Not there. Not as she was at that moment.

Just a bit after two, Weiss stood on shaky legs and left her dorm room. She walked down the hall swaying more than a little, ignoring her still-open door. The scroll chirped again and again; she heard it the whole way until she exited the building, a singular destination on her mind. Weiss hadn’t thought to check but she did indeed have her billfold on her, and almost an entire hour later she would saunter back into her dorm room, finally shutting the door then, with a bottle of overpriced scotch cradled under her right arm thanks to one of the credit cards in that very billfold.

By four-o-clock Weiss was good and thoroughly drunk. By six she was passed out, the bottle three-quarters empty on the coffee table and her scroll still chirping every ten minutes or so. By two-thirty the next morning, when Ruby sent a simple are-you-awake text, the heiress would snap awake and finally decide to check her messages. Her head throbbed and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her throat, but even with the hangover combined, it did not compare to what those messages bestowed upon her.

And yet, still somewhat sloshed, Weiss put it all from her mind, finished the scotch and went right back to a deep, heavy, drunken sleep.

 

Ͼ

 

All was still and quiet in Weiss’s slumbering mind. She had not dreamed after falling back to sleep, after finishing the bottle of scotch. She had not stirred one inch, moved not a bit. It was a drunken sleep. It was a dead sleep, nearly, that she had fallen into. Until o-nine-hundred rolled around and the world penetrated her nigh-comatose mind, that is.

The first of what woke her was the ringing of her scroll. It chirped and chimed shrilly, vibrated intensely on the coffee table, shattering the daytime quiet of her dorm room. How long it had been doing so she did not know, only that it made her headache magnitudes worse now that she was aware of it. So, she did what all hungover sorts are wont to do.

Cursing under her breath in the gibberish of the recently awoken, Weiss rose from her bed and snatched up the device. No sooner than she had there came a thunderous knock on her door. She did not remember closing it. What’s more, she had not expected the racket to any degree and dropped the scroll in a small panic.

“Weiss!” shouted Ruby from behind the door. The heiress only barely recognized her voice. “Weiss! Are you ok?! Open up!”

Another round of thudding knocks. Another call ringing in on her scroll. The heiress sucked in a lungful of air, sighed, and picked it up without answering. She then walked to the door and let Ruby in. But her world was spinning more than a tad, so she retreated immediately for the couch and plopped herself down, tossed the scroll unceremoniously onto the coffee table and sank into the cushions.

“Geez, what happened to you?” Ruby began. She took two steps into the room—shutting the door from habit—and was hit with the heavy scent of spilt alcohol. _Strong_ alcohol at that.

“Do you believe in _Fate_?” asked Weiss, all but spitting the last word out as though it tasted foul.

“I believe in moderation when drinking,” Ruby answered. She smiled wanly, hoping the jest was taken well.

“I guess I believe in it now,” said the heiress. Her gaze was turned to the ceiling.

Ruby decided that her bit of humor either had not been heard or had been roundly ignored. Whatever the case, she crossed the room and sat beside Weiss, tried to snuggle close to her. The heiress seemed nonplussed by it. Ruby sat up straight then.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

“You could say that,” said Weiss.

A moment of silence—awkward, uncomfortable, and longer-feeling than it truly was.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Does talking ever really help?” Weiss swiftly quipped.

“Sometimes,” Ruby answered. “Not always, but it’s good to get things off your chest. Especially if it’s with someone… _close_ to you…”

Finally, the heiress brought her gaze down. She turned her icy, red, tear-swollen eyes toward Ruby.

“Pardon my vulgarity,” she said, starting to choke up, “but it would seem I’ve found myself resoundingly _fucked_ as of about noon yesterday.”

“What happened?” Ruby asked, her tone serious and not at all like the woman Weiss thought she knew.

The heiress tried to tell. She opened her mouth and all that came out was a croaking, cracking sob. Then the dam broke. Burning, salty, stinging tears rolled down her cheeks in droves. A torrent, in no other words. Ruby moved without missing a beat, wrapped Weiss up in a hug about her head and pulled the woman close. They stayed that way for a time. How long, this observer could not say. It was like the world simply stopped around them. It did not, of course, but the illusion was nigh absolute.

Minutes ticked away. Ruby held Weiss to her bosom. The heiress cried and sobbed, hiccupped and sputtered, like a child who had lost all semblance of control. Ruby stroked the top of her head, soothing and rhythmic, constant. Ten minutes passed. Twenty? Maybe even thirty. Weiss continued to wail. Ruby continued to comfort. And every now and again, the heiress’s scroll would chirp to proclaim another message received.

But Ruby said nothing. She would, once in a while, shush or coo to try and calm the heiress a bit. Quickly, though, she understood these things would do no good. So, she simply kept up the slow, rhythmic strokes of her fingers through Weiss’s hair. Eventually the heiress fell asleep in her love’s arms. Ruby, almost unwillingly, picked her up and took the woman back to bed.

After that, she could little figure out what to do with herself.

 

Ϭ

 

The heiress awoke for the third, and final, time that day just a hair past noon. No longer did her dorm room smell of the remnants of a powerful bottle of liquor. Rather, she smelled something delicious cooking. Something she couldn’t immediately identify. Along with the smell she heard sizzling and a light singing coming from her kitchen nook.

Weiss sat up and stretched, immediately regretting the decision. Her stomach was empty, on fire, and thoroughly pissed at her for who-knew-what. Took her a few moments to recall the drinking and the long, powerful bout of crying.

“You’re finally up.”

The heiress looked Ruby’s way. She stood at the edge of the kitchen nook, arms crossed and a spatula in one hand. Her face was not the silly or goofy—or just generally happy—face Weiss had become accustomed to. Rather, Ruby looked flat and serious. She looked ready for war.

“You would have made a fine huntress,” said Weiss, somewhat unaware of herself.

“I dunno,” Ruby answered, turning back to whatever she was cooking. “Sometimes I wonder. Why, do I look scary or something?”

“I’d say ‘or something’ suits it better,” said Weiss.

“Dad always told me I could get a scary face going when I needed to. Called it my ‘getting stuff done’ face. He also said it didn’t suit me.”

Weiss watched Ruby work over the small stove. She was not about it long. Maybe another three minutes and she shut the thing off, picked up a pan and scraped the contents onto a plate. Ruby then brought the plate and a glass of water to the heiress. On it were three strips of bacon and a large, seemingly handmade biscuit, judging by the remnants of flour Weiss could see on her fingers and wrists.

The heiress graciously accepted the plate and tried to stand, thinking to eat at her desk.

“No, you stay in bed,” said Ruby. She followed her statement up with a gentle but firm hand on Weiss’s shoulder, then sat at the foot of the bed and said, “This is good hangover food. Eat up and drink that water, and maybe give yourself a bit before trying to stand. You do realize that bottle was one-forty proof, don’t you?”

“I—”

“ _I_ assume you bought that sometime yesterday,” Ruby interrupted, her gaze rather withering. “Since you missed your first day of classes and all, I mean. Am I right?”

Weiss looked away, but did say, “You are,” in a nearly inaudible tone.

“That was a liter bottle, Weiss. Are you trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning?”

This time, the heiress answered not. Instead she bit a chunk from the biscuit and chewed as slowly as she could manage.

“I don’t know what happened to throw you for such a loop, Weiss,” said Ruby, “but it’s got to be pretty bad.”

Weiss said nothing. Ruby watched her girlfriend, looking for any indication of response. The woman only continued to eat, slowly and in utter silence.

“Tell me,” she said. Well, rather moreso demanded.

Weiss thought about hiding it. Considered dealing with the debacle—however enormous it might get, and it almost certainly _would_ balloon to dangerous proportions ere long—all on her own. She truly was terrified to let Ruby see her as she believed herself to truly be: vicious, cut-throat, merciless and calculated. A right and proper Schnee, stock of her dear old dad…

She swallowed the last mouthful of biscuit and took a sip of water, then cleared her throat and willed herself to be calm. No more tears. No more faltering.

“I’ve been…” What? She almost couldn’t think of how to say it. Then, it came to her. Not the best but it would do. “My father knows about us,” said Weiss.

“You know that for sure?” Ruby pressed.

“I do. Tell me, do you remember Lucius? The one my sister expelled?”

“He did it?”

It unnerved Weiss how sober and sobering Ruby’s demeanor was.

“He admitted as much to me,” she answered. “Cornered me in the bookstore and showed off some pictures he took of us in the arboretum yesterday. Said he sent them straight to Father…”

“How bad is that going to be?”

“Bad,” said Weiss, and there really was nothing else to add.

For a time, Ruby fell silent, seemed to lose herself in her own head. Her silver eyes were locked to the heiress—she could feel them like icepicks—but they were only parked, so to speak. She truly wasn’t looking at her or anything at all. Weiss picked up one of the strips of bacon. It was flimsy, almost like it had not been fully cooked, and nearly put her off of wanting to try it. But she took a bite all the same and was not disappointed.

Weiss had had many of the delicacies to be found across Remnant; few of them held a candle to that bit of bacon. She finished all three strips (and downed the last of her water) in hardly a minute.

“You need to talk to him, Weiss,” said Ruby, suddenly.

“Are you daft?” the heiress quipped hastily in return.

“Maybe, but it’s true. There’s nothing else _to do_ but talk to him.” Ruby fell silent again, but just as Weiss was about to protest she said, “Lucius told you he sent them straight to your father. Right?”

“Yes.”

Ruby stood and walked to the coffee table, picked up the heiress’s scroll and returned to her seat on the bed. She held the device out to Weiss and said, “Call him or text him. Set it up and go talk to him.”

But the heiress simply looked away. Ruby did not move, continued to hold the scroll out to her.

“You don’t know the man like I do,” said Weiss, voice barely a whisper. “He’s…”

“He’s your father, Weiss.”

“Sometimes, I wonder.”

“Unless the man’s a monster, I’m sure there’s _something_ to talk out.”

Weiss fell completely silent. She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face. Ruby continued to hold the scroll out to her. Seconds passed, then minutes. Weiss felt her heart begin to race, as though a panic were setting in. She squeezed her knees tighter. Ruby did not budge.

Then, finally, the scroll began to ring. Weiss jolted up to meet Ruby’s stern silver gaze, then looked at the scroll. It rang a second time. Just before the third ring the heiress took it…

“Hello?” she said, answering on the cusp of the third ring.

 

Ϯ

 

Jacques had been pacing his office in the Schnee estate for the last hour. Flares of temper had come and gone since the previous day and were now mostly settled and fizzled out. Oh sure, the man was right and properly livid, but it now existed as more of a smoldering thing and the outbursts were all but done with. That was a good thing at least for his office. No less than half the ledgers kept on his desk were strewn across the spotless marble floor. Two of his three crystal decanters lay in a thousand pieces at the far corner of the room, near the door, in a puddle of priceless libation. A curtain had dislodged and his head still ached from the knock it had taken in an earlier fall, the result of the feral and impotent rage of the moment.

When he first received the message, of course.

Jacques sat down and scooted his chair in, sighed and opened his personal laptop. Three more notifications blinked in the bottom-right corner. Three more messages to his personal mail. This incensed him, knowing they were most likely Winter asking after Weiss again, and he decided to ignore them this time. He looked at the time display. It read fifteen-til-one.

Again, he sighed, leaned back in his posh office chair. All sorts of things were running through his mind, ranging from hither to yonder. But it all came back down to his last chance at progeny, to securing his legacy. Winter was the errant daughter and his son had up and passed away years ago. Now there was only one, and if that snot Lucius were to be believed…

“The king is dead,” Jacques whispered to himself, “but who will we cry to live long after him?”

He sat up, turned the chair sideways and kicked his feet onto his desk. The door was locked and he worried not that any might bumble in to see him like so. After maybe five minutes of sitting and thinking, brooding and contemplating, Jacques decided to try one more time. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a true art of a scroll, slid the thing open and fumbled through the directory.

This time, the call was picked up spot-on the third ring.

 

α

 

“I’m going to leave you to it,” said Ruby, quietly, as she stood from the heiress’s bed. “Gonna do a little shopping, will be back in an hour or two.”

And with that, she did exactly so. On her way she said a quiet prayer to nothing in particular that the call would go well. She loved Weiss, and knew it well, and truly hoped this romance would not bring the heiress harm. In any shape or form.

 

Ͼ

 

“ _Hello Weiss,_ ” said the gruff voice on the other end of the call.

She watched Ruby leave, watched her door slowly close. For a moment it seemed her words would not come. Yet, Weiss did find them, and duly used them also.

“Hello Father,” she said.

“ _Care to tell me what’s going on?_ ”

Weiss thought a moment, then asked, “What do you want to know?”

Silence.

Then: “ _All of it, Weiss, and right this moment,_ ” said Jacques.

She knew that tone good and well, and knew it bode nothing pleasant.

“If you want all of it,” said Weiss, running mostly on instinct, “then it would be best if we discussed it in person.”

“ _I truly couldn’t have said it better myself,_ ” said Jacques. “ _Very well then. I’ll have a chartered airship at the faculty port in half an hour. We will speak at home._ ”

And there it was, exactly what the heiress had feared to hear. Oh, she was no child any longer, no young girl to be knocked around, commanded, and kept under thumb. Yet, the only other option would be refusal, which was tantamount to a self-imposed excommunication. The last card he could hold over her. Weiss swallowed the lump in her throat, quiet and inconspicuously.

“See you there, Father.”

“ _Yes. See you soon, Weiss._ ”

With that, the heiress hung up the call and set to finding some paper. She penned a brief note, then took a short shower and changed into fresher clothes. Once all was good and ready—as much as she felt it _could_ be—Weiss left her dorm room, headed for the MTU faculty’s tiny air pad.

 

α

 

Ruby did her best to take her time at first. The weather had gotten miserably cold as the day wore on though, and by one it was close to unbearable. She sorely wished she had not chosen to leave her apartment without _at least_ a coat and maybe even her cloak to go over it. But that was that. There would not be enough time, she decided, to head back for either or both, so she moseyed around as long as she could stand the biting chill before making for the large building housing the campus stores.

Once there, Ruby entered and went directly for the small grocer. Just outside of it she spotted a small rack displaying many heavy coats. The sign on top showed the prices to be rather reasonable. An employee nearby spotted her looking and walked over.

“If you have your student ID with you, I can mark your pick down another ten percent,” he said.

Ruby looked toward the addressing voice to see a short, lanky, pale young man. By how he carried himself and greeted her, she wondered if he wasn’t headed for a public relations career. There lay a shine in his green eyes that told her he would excel for sure, should he pursue such a path.

“Oh really?” Ruby answered. “That’d be awfully nice of you…” She looked at his nametag. “That’d be great, Mark.”

“Honestly, I told them the things wouldn’t move,” said Mark, walking her over to the rack of coats. “Anyone with sense would be out and about in their heaviest covers, I said. But then _you_ walk in wearing next-to-nothing at all.”

Ruby thought about that a moment. True, she had worn shorts and a t-shirt, coupled with a pair of boots that barely passed mid-calf. Not exactly cold-weather gear by any stretch.

“It was like the end of spring just a few days ago, though,” said Ruby. “And earlier it didn’t feel anywhere near this cold…”

“Yeah, well…”

Mark motioned toward one of the longer coats on the rack, which, on Ruby, would likely come at least a third of the way down her thigh. She picked it up and removed the hanger, slipped one arm in and then the other. It was thick and immediately warm. A bit of a splurge to be sure, but…

“No one knows what happened exactly,” said Mark, grabbing her attention. “All _I_ know is that one of the weather stabilizers croaked recently. Some are saying it died a week ago, but I think it couldn’t have been longer than yesterday.”

“Weather stabilizer?” parroted Ruby.

“Yeah. How else could a city like Constance have been built in the middle of a tundra? But, from what I understand, the things are as old as the city herself. I guess you can only upkeep stuff so long before it up and craps the bed, huh?”

Ruby nodded her agreement, focused once more on the coat as she tried to suss out her opinion of it and whether it was worth the expenditure. It didn’t take her long—thinking about how cold it had gotten and now knowing about the dead weather machine—to decide that, yes, it was well worth it. At least she would have something to cover her today, and perhaps even an extra to go over her smaller coat.

“Thanks for the info,” she said, pulling off the coat and reaching for the hanger.

“You can wear it to the register if you want,” said Mark. “When the tundra storms really hit, it’s going to be below freezing inside and outside. Just… make sure you do pay for it, yeah? Oh! And make sure to show your student ID.”

“I will, and thank you again,” said Ruby, smiling politely, before entering the grocer. Mark waved and went back to his own business.

For the next half an hour, Ruby made herself busy picking out ingredients to make a few meals. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, but she already planned to try and stay over with the heiress for at least a night, if not more. The way Weiss had acted earlier truly had her on edge at this point. Even as she meandered down one aisle after another, picking out this and that and putting recipes together in her head…

Ruby worried immensely for her love.

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss arrived at the faculty air pad with five minutes to spare but the sleek _Kaze_ -class looked to have been landed and waiting for some time. It stood there, imposing and predatory, engines spinning on idle. A heavy gust came through and chilled Weiss to the bone. She wrapped her arms about herself, pulling tighter the coat she was so glad to have brought.

Without ceremony and certainly without gusto, Weiss Schnee stepped one foot onto the short boarding ramp. She turned to take one more look out over the MTU—for the faculty air pad stood a decent five stories, easily giving a view of the entire facility—then finished her ingress aboard. It took her no time at all to pick a seat from the lavish choices within.

No sooner than she had, the heiress felt the lift of the _Kaze_ -class corvette’s engines as it rose and swiftly tugged into flight.

The trip across Mantle took little time at all. Maybe another half an hour. Weiss shuddered to think on the speed of the craft.

When it landed, she quickly disembarked and took a long gander over her childhood home. The Schnee Estate stretched on beyond the point of opulence and nigh unto the point of corpulence. Very nearly in a physical sense too, as the smooth contours of the various buildings of the estate had once been described precisely so. But between the color scheme, the familiarity, and the frozen chill of both the design and the weather…

It was, nonetheless, her home.

Weiss took a breath and headed inside. Her amazement at remembering the layout did not last long. Sure, it had been eight years (nearly nine now) since she stepped foot in the place, but she had spent eighteen years there growing up. And she was _Weiss Schnee_ for crying out loud; the more amazing thing would be if she had forgotten.

Ten minutes after disembarking from the _Kaze_ -class, the heiress arrived at her father’s office. A tall pair of ebony doors gilded with platinum and embossed with brass scrollwork stood before her, the ever-imposing sentinels she remembered them to be. She thought to simply enter at first but decided to observe proper decorum instead. When she knocked—gently though she did—the echo reverberated through her very bones. Then, a minute passed.

There came no answer.

“Miss Schnee? Weiss, is… is that you?”

The heiress looked to her left and very nearly missed the voice’s owner.

“Sorry, Miss Schnee. Do look down just a bit, if you please.”

“Klein?” said Weiss on seeing the hunched man.

“So I am and do remain,” he answered her.

He was the same faithful old butler she remembered, to be sure, but the last handful of years had clearly not been kind to the man. Klein stood straight as he could manage, being rather happy to see her, but with the gnarled hump on his back he was a good foot-and-a-half shorter, if not a bit more. Then there were the milky eyes looking up at her from behind drooping lids and thick glasses. Tears stood in them, barely withheld.

“Oh, Klein, it’s so good to see you again!” Weiss exclaimed, hunching down to give the man a hug.

“Likewise, Miss Schnee. I’m pleased you decided to return.”

Klein returned the gesture, then pushed the heiress away.

“Sorry for being gone so long.”

“Think nothing of it, I say!” But he looked away from her. “Although, I assume this isn’t a friendly visit?”

“I wish it were,” said Weiss, also looking away.

“Mister Schnee is just down the hall in the accounting room. He… did not seem happy, last I saw him.”

“I could venture a guess toward that, I’m sure,” said the heiress, trying to chuckle. The effort fell flat and nearly came out a cough.

She decided it best to leave there and started off down the hall. Before she could take a third step, however, Klein stopped the heiress with a tug on her sleeve. She turned to him. He looked up at her, face scrunched in either pain or thought or perhaps even both.

“I do know my place, but…” he began. “Let me just say, you really should think more about yourself, Miss Schnee. Companies come and go, last generations or fizzle out in a decade—but living is once-in-a-lifetime…”

Weiss smiled, wide and true, and thanked Klein with another hug before setting off down the hall once more. This time she walked with purpose and no small confidence, though the thought of what awaited her still shook her very bones.

The accounting room was just as small as she remembered it, when Weiss walked in. No knocks this time. She knew that, if her father had picked such a room, decorum had been taken entirely off the table. Fluorescents buzzed loudly overhead. Jacques—his face nearly a study of masonry, so stoic and emotionless—sat in a small chair on one end of the ledger table. Weiss turned and shut the door, engaged the locking system, then pulled the only other chair from against the wall and sat down.

Jacques brushed a pile of ledgers aside, leaned over on his elbows and leveled his steely gaze on his daughter. His voice was gruff, as it had always been. He spoke not with malice. He spoke not with disdain. He spoke with neither vexation nor fury…

Yet, his words broke her apart, as an off-course ship dashed against a craggy shore.


	8. O Father, Where Art Thou?

Chapter 6

O Father, Where Art Thou?

 

Ϯ

 

“Is this what you want, Weiss?”

Jacques pulled apart his clasped hands, leaned forward just a bit and set something at the center of the table. The heiress hesitated a moment, then picked it up. It was a small, square computer chip of some sort. She turned it over and looked at the back. Nothing different. Rows upon rows of spaghetti-like wiring nearly too small to see unaided.

“That little chip,” said Jacques, “is the Schnee Dust Company.”

Weiss felt her heart all but stop and, gingerly as a mother laying her newborn in the crib, she put the chip back on the table.

“Why do you have something so important with you?” she asked, already breathless, sweat pricking at her temples.

“To make a point.” He took the chip, removed a flask-like box from one pocket and set it inside. “Your Grandfather was a sentimental fool for such grand gestures. A genius of a man, yes, but a sentimental fool all the same.”

Whenever a point came that neither of them spoke, the silence in the small accounting room became deafening. Only the fluorescents lighting their palaver made any sort of noise, and theirs was a low, buzzing drone that quickly bled into naught more than background static. Jacques held this particular silence with a defeated expression over his weathered face, his words hanging on the air as the quiet drilled Weiss’s head miserably.

“I keep very close tabs on this company, Weiss,” said Jacques, breaking that wild quiet. “I know _everything_ there is to know. Anything worth being aware of, I am. All the ticking gears and turning cogs, each worker bee and so on. And I saw your recent rental from the library. I can think of no other reason for you to peruse the company charter than if you have an immediate vested interest in claiming it all.”

“Father, I—”

“No!” Jacques slammed the table. Weiss jumped, hard, and sunk into her seat. “No more deception, Weiss. No more hiding things from me. You _know_ how I am—you may be my flesh and blood, but you’re a part of this company first. You are the _face_ of her, like it or not!

“Answer me now, and be plain about it. My patience is very limited.”

The heiress considered her options, which were woefully few. Her father sat across from her, hands interlaced and chin resting atop them, eyes thin, positively exhausted, and somehow vicious. At last, she sighed.

“You know I have lived and breathed Schnee Dust Company since I was old enough to understand what it meant,” said Weiss.

“Yes, I have long assumed as much. But were that the case…” Jacques reached into another pocket and withdrew his scroll, a true masterpiece of functional beauty. “Yes, supposing that is the case, then I cannot imagine how these pictures were staged. Can you?”

He quickly pulled up and displayed the very photos Weiss had dreaded seeing again. Funny that, truly, considering how her heart had been so consoled by the very interaction captured and now accusatorily displayed before her. But whatever consoling had been imparted to her then, it was all smoke in the wind now. She was damned by them. She knew this.

But Weiss did not resign herself to such knowledge.

“I met a woman,” said she, reaching as deep within as she could to find strength. What she found, oddly enough, felt warm and silver. The heiress would never be able to explain the sensation of feeling a color inside herself, but she did feel it all the same.

“You met a woman?” Jacques parroted her words, seeming to taste them. “I would imagine you have met many in your travels. Men as well. And perhaps some faunus? How about those new A.I. deployed in places, the ones that we hope to replace some of our own less-skilled employees with? I cannot imagine you _haven’t_ met a few of them…”

“I’m sure you know what I mean, Father.”

“I’m sure I do.”

Weiss stared her father down from across the table between them. After a time, he sat straight and pocketed the scroll. Try as she might, Weiss could not make heads or tales of him, could not read the man one whit aside from the obvious fatigue. Something lay heavy on him—over his shoulders, within his heart, on his mind—but what could it be?

“What you do in your free time is my business as much as anything else, Weiss,” he said at last. “Until you bury me in the dirt, _you_ are as much my concern as the SDC stock value. And while I am well aware of the… softer view society has taken on romance since my youth, there are other considerations to be had.”

“Are you worried there won’t be a grandchild for you to whip around and frighten into obedience?” Weiss quipped, quite without thinking.

She braced herself for the worst…

But it did not come.

“That was a vicious blow, Weiss,” said her father. “I could almost be proud of it. However, since you seem to grasp most of the point, I can let it slide…”

The man stood suddenly, and Weiss felt herself lock up, readying for a blow. Perhaps one to scar her right eye, gifting her a matching pair. But he only stood there, scowling, arms crossed behind his back. Weiss tried to look as unimpressed as she could.

“What do you know of the ColdWater Group?” Jacques asked, his voice suddenly a hard whisper full of malice.

“Um…” Weiss choked up at first, then said, “I know my stocks in them have performed exceedingly well. A little over a tenfold return at this point I believe, and after only four years. Why?”

Jacques smiled a slanted, sickly smile. It truly unsettled her to see.

“How would you like to see the legacy built up by your esteemed Grandfather razed to ashes by them?”

“What could ColdWater possibly have to do with us?” asked the heiress. “Is there a merger on the table? A buyout?”

Jacques turned away from his daughter, stared at one of the featureless walls. He said, “Mercenaries have no loyalty, and their value depends heavily on the state of world affairs. Wars make them a priceless commodity; peace makes them a rowdy liability.”

“We’ve been at peace since the Great War ended,” said Weiss.

“We have,” agreed her father. “But it’s been a tenuous peace, and with terror groups like the White Fang and rogue factors like that lunatic in the mask out there… The simple masses have started to wonder and whisper, and fret what they cannot understand. That makes ‘ _security forces_ ’ a much more desired commodity.”

“Lunatic in a mask?” pondered Weiss aloud. Then, she asked, “Do you mean the one Blazing Sol was after?”

As she asked this, Weiss became sure she remembered another name to go with Blazing Sol. She could not, however, recall it, and quickly became sure it was merely her imagination. The woman had been alone according to everything she had heard and read, after all. Most likely the reason she had died in the end.

“Whoever or whatever it is,” said Jacques, “that villain and those terrorists have made mercenaries a relevant topic once more. And _that_ , in turn, has made ColdWater a rather smart investment of late. We may manufacture weapons of war and forward research for that same end, but we neither represent nor offer a proper fighting force.”

“And ColdWater is looking to acquire its own source of armaments?” Weiss ventured.

Jacques turned back to her, smiled his unsettling smile again and said, “Very good, Weiss! I’m pleased to see your mind has not been dulled by romantic squander.”

The heiress ignored the sting of those words and pressed, saying, “Our valuation passed three hundred billion in the last quarter. How could they afford such a consideration?”

“The fact of the matter is that they can,” said Jacques. “And the issue at hand is that they are already speaking to the board. I own the primary share of Schnee stock, but as you know from reading the charter…”

“The board can overrule you,” said Weiss, partly to herself and partly to her father.

“Yes.” Jacques nodded, returned to his seat and resumed his forward-leaning position.

Weiss chewed these things over for a moment. It irked her that she had been kept in the dark on this, but she also understood that—preoccupied with Ruby and the MTU—this was partly her own fault. Truly it was a wonder she had not lost a king’s ransom in the markets, being so distracted.

But just then, something else dawned on her, and it nearly turned her stomach inside out with nausea.

“Are you seriously considering a political marriage for me?” she asked her father.

“ColdWater is owned much the same as our own company,” said Jacques.

Weiss tried to say something more but a sudden blind fury shut her up. All her effort made was a small series of wheezing whispers.

“His name is Lincoln Ansley, and he’s only a year older than you,” Jacques went on. “For all intents and purposes, he already owns ColdWater. The official handoff is set for the next fiscal year.”

“Bastard…” Weiss finally managed to choke out.

Jacques stood.

“You have two choices,” he said. The man who was her father looked both foreign and menacing as he stood there, but his voice remained a wearied, unusual drone. “Preserve the company so you have something to take over from me or turn your back and leave. If you _are a Schnee_ , then put your money where your impudent mouth is.”

Jacques Schnee gave his daughter no chance to respond. He walked swiftly to the door, disengaged the lock, and left. His footsteps echoed loudly down the hall, even through the door after it shut.

Weiss could not move, could hardly even think.

 

Ͽ

 

Two hours passed in the accounting room, the heiress completely stupefied and motionless aside from her slow, uneven breaths. Only her own breathing and the fluorescents overhead made any noise. The room was utterly silent otherwise.

Her father’s words played in her head over and over again: marry herself off or leave. And of course, she knew the “or leave” portion meant not only the company, but her own family as well. Take the deal and preserve us or be disowned. You are only a piece on the board. You are only a pawn to be used, perhaps a rook at best. You are no knight, no bishop, and certainly no queen.

Almost at the very mark of the second hour’s passage, a timid knock came from the door. Weiss snapped to. She spun about and stared at the door.

“Miss Schnee?” Klein’s voice. Concerned, yes, but something else. She couldn’t be sure what. “Miss Schnee, are you all right in there? May I come in?”

Weiss tried to speak but failed at first. On her second attempt she managed to say, “Zero, two, two, zero, one, four.” She hoped Klein could hear.

“Oh, come now, Miss Schnee.” She watched the door open up and the hunched man totter in. “I know the codes to all the locks in this house, save for your father’s personal safe.” Then he stopped and regarded the heiress with an alarmed, knowing stare. “Dear me, it’s worse than I thought…”

Somewhere in the back of her head, Weiss wondered if she hadn’t fallen asleep at the table and begun to dream. There was an odd, wobbly quality to the air. Klein as well if she didn’t look at him directly. It was only when she felt the first wet drops slick down her cheek, drip from her chin, that she understood.

“Come, come, let’s get you a warm glass of cider,” said Klein, tottering over and throwing one of Weiss’s arms over his shoulders. “You’ll feel much better after, I’m sure. Yes, I’m quite sure.”

Hunched or not, whether or not hobbled by age, Klein displayed a glimpse of his old prowess nonetheless. With nary an effort he lifted the heiress to her feet, straight from the chair, and dragged her along like a wounded soldier until she started to walk on her own. Before Weiss could fully realize it, they were headed down one winding hall after another. But she was lost in her daze and knew not the destination. Then, the dining hall—more akin to a _feasting_ hall, what with the industrial prep center in the middle of it—opened up before them. Klein led Weiss by the hand to a table and pulled out a chair for her to sit.

She did so.

“I’ll be right back, Miss Schnee,” said Klein, and then he skittered off.

But Weiss only sat there as the minutes ticked by. Her head was so numb, the feeling all but came back around to seeming as though her skull were in the grip of a powerful vise. Jacques’s words squeezed and tugged both her heart and mind, rang her like a bell. Klein set a glass in front of her. It smelled heavily of cinnamon, coriander, hops, and apples. Weiss hadn’t seen him return.

“Thank you, Klein,” she said, and picked up the glass. She took a long, careful swallow, as if afraid she would choke.

The libation was sweet and savory with only the tiniest hint of bitterness. She knew immediately it was from Klein’s personal stores. Handmade by the old man and of a professional quality and standard. Which is to say nothing of the taste and perfectly struck notes it rang off within her, from tongue to belly to brain. She had had no idea her heart was racing, but upon her third sip of the cider Weiss found the frantic organ calming noticeably.

“Would you deign permit this old manservant to know what troubles you, Miss Schnee?” asked Klein.

Weiss looked up from the glass of cider (now half full) to see sorrowful, milky eyes regarding her. She could scarce help but smile at the man.

“Please, Klein,” she said, “use my proper name. My mother is Miss Schnee, and though I seem to have acquired a taste for strong drink of late, I would rather not think I am becoming her…”

“Very well then, Weiss,” said Klein. “Would you care to share your sorrows with me? I cannot promise a solution, but I _can_ promise my listening ear.”

As the cider seeped from her belly to her bones, the heiress calmed more and more. Her mind came back to her. Battered and a bit shocked, sure, but it came back and submitted. She looked around. The dining hall appeared entirely disused for who knew how long. Dust sat in a decent layer on every surface. Utensils were laid out as if for a forgotten party now a year overdue. And even from where she sat, at a point furthest from the cooking station in the center of the room, Weiss could see the unused state of the stoves and furnaces and ovens, the fridges and freezers and pantries, the pots and pans and stacks of dishes.

“It’s a ghost town in here,” she said.

“Things… have not been the best of late, Ma’am,” said Klein.

Weiss looked to the man across the table. His face was long and mournful, his eyes downcast and dejected. She took another swig of Klein’s cider.

“Father told me to choose between marriage for the company’s sake and leaving it all behind for my own selfishness.”

“Is that so?” Klein pondered aloud, but he did not meet Weiss’s gaze.

“Not in as many words, perhaps,” said she, “but that was certainly the gist of it. Now, would you mind if I asked you a few questions, Klein?”

The old man looked up then, met the heiress’s icy eyes.

“Anything at all, Ma’am. I’ll answer as I can.”

“Has Mother recovered from her fall?” she asked first.

“The Lady Schnee yet lies in bed, Ma’am,” said Klein. “Mister Schnee sees her only once a week now, and even then, I have not overheard that they speak much. I would venture to guess she has been taken up by a deep malaise.”

“And how has Father been getting along?”

Klein lifted his own mug of cider for a long draught. He then said, “Poorly, Weiss. Poorly indeed.”

Weiss felt herself soften a bit. Like the edge were taken off of a terrible headache, and she now sat basking in the respite this offered. Yet, another feeling crept in behind that odd relief. A sort of despair that would not reveal itself but would rather sneak in and hide, forgotten and ignored if at all possible. She knew it came from her lack of attention to the company. She knew it came from the guilt she was quickly beginning to feel for focusing on her romantic pursuits so closely. However, the heiress also knew it would not deter her.

Not one bit.

“Do you still overhear much of the company’s affairs?” asked Weiss.

“I do, Ma’am,” said Klein.

“Then tell me: how long has Father been hounded by the ColdWater Group?”

Klein leaned back in his chair—which, given the large hump on his back, came as more of a cattycorner list to the left—and scratched his chin.

“I would say since the start of winter last year,” he said. “Although, I am not privy so much so as I once was to the inner workings of the company. I’m afraid retirement—whether I like it or not—is fast approaching for old Klein…”

The heiress, too, leaned back in her chair at that. She looked from the hunched old man to a window at the far end of the room. A tall window, perhaps as much as thirty feet, which reached from the floor to perhaps five feet below the ceiling. When she had been but a wee girl, it was that very window through which she had tried to escape the estate, nose bleeding and the tops of her thighs deeply bruised from a belt.

Mother and Father, both, had been quite inebriated that night, the remembrance of which immediately soured Weiss toward finishing her cider.

She sat up straight, nudged the glass away and said, “Thank you. I needed that.”

“The cider, Ma’am?”

Weiss grinned gently, said, “Not as much as the friend to converse with, but yes, I suppose the cider helped too.”

“Then, would there be anything more I might do for you?” Klein offered.

Weiss thought about it for a moment. Truly pondered whether she could use his help at all, for already she was gathering ideas and formulating plans.

“Not just yet,” she said, standing from the table and stretching. “But yes, I think I will need your help before my time here is done. I think I will be staying at the estate for a week or two, perhaps longer if need be.”

Klein beamed wildly at this, stood quickly and began to bus the table. Weiss watched him work and found herself marveling over quite a few things as he did. Firstly, was the sheer dedication, drive, and depth of energy the old man seemed to possess. Mostly though, Weiss marveled at the blessing she had never noticed until late, how she seemed to run across such good people when at her lowest points.

“Your room has been kept in livable condition,” said Klein, snapping her from her musings. “May I show you to it?”

Weiss smiled at the little, hunched old man and took his offered arm. Klein indeed led her to her old room.

 

Ͼ

 

By the time Klein left her—with a bow and a kindly goodnight—Weiss found herself to be utterly exhausted. An ember had alit in her from their conversation, but the words of her father had also shattered her in a manner inexplicable. At the very least she would need a night’s rest if she hoped to do aught about her situation. Aside, that is, from simply giving in and accepting one of the two horrid choices laid before her.

It was only a tad after seven in the evening when Weiss Schnee locked the door to her old room, stripped every bit of clothing from her body, and wrapped herself up in the covers of her old bed. They smelled as clean as if they had been taken from the dryer only an hour past. Lemongrass and conifer. Fluffy and thick. Soft and giving.

The heiress drifted off into a slumber deeper than any she had ever had, which would last nearly a full twelve hours. It would be a slumber whose depth found no match until the end, when her last breath was drawn in a field of lilies and monkshoods.

 

Λ

 

_Weiss Schnee is not the sort of woman to be easily taken up in flights of fancy. She is not the kind of woman to credit_ Fate _any more than as a joke at best, or as an insult at worst. She is neither the kind of woman to be easily misled, nor the kind to be easily conquered. Hers is a will forged in lonely misery. A fire lit by the desire to break free from her destined path. An iron determination built up by derision, mined by way of stoic discipline meted out unfairly, and fired in the crucible of the woeful elite._

_Weiss Schnee sleeps deeply, and for all intents and purposes is dead for a time. Sure, her lungs draw breath and her heart yet beats, but her mind is taken away from her and put in another place. Into another Weiss, so to speak, to see what she was never meant to. It is the connection to Levi Ansleif that does this. And it is by that connection that memories—both those past and those yet to come—are shared between them. The heiress will not remember when she awakes…_

_But this is what happens, and it will become a part of her._

_At first, she is only dead. A spirit cut off from its living corse. Down through deep, velvet, violet waters she flies. Up into leaden air she sinks. In a fire, black as the height of dawn and hot as the worst of tundra, she is born from ashes. Flecks of wispy dust assemble into a woman, and her name is Weiss Schnee, and she is at once nothing and everything. She has touched The Beginning and The End. Her mind has been connected to one who has tasted the Fruit of Knowledge._

_And she is Alpha…_

_And she is Omega…_

_And she knows not either of these words…_

_But she is both, and she is neither…_

_But she is nothing, and she is all…_

_Sensation occurs to her, and becomes her, and overcomes her, and awakens her. The sky above is blue and the two suns are red and orange. Then the night rushes in; the four moons are blue, and pink, and ochre, and a cosmic violet. Then day returns._

_“You’re early,” says a girl._

_Weiss looks behind herself and sees the girl. She cannot be more than four feet tall and looks thin as if starved. Her coal-black hair drags the ground, reaches maybe two feet behind her. The girl’s eyes are a glowing violet, like the largest of the four moons. Her pointed ears stretch a foot to either side of her head, sagging slightly and bent toward the ground at the tips. She wears only a thin fabric covering which is little more than a sack with holes cut for her arms and feet. The sackcloth covering is burnt almost to soot and her skin is as pale as the driven snow._

_“It’s alright,” says the girl. “I’m already dead. I have been given rites and been burnt, although that wasn’t the brightest idea…”_

_Weiss sees a city within the basin of a deep caldera. To the north, beyond the city of white marble, a mountain reaches to the top of the sky. She knows a grand creature sits atop it. She knows the city has been made rubble. She knows none live there any longer. She knows the girl was laid to rest there, and burnt on a pyre, and that this tore the city asunder. A great reckoning of brimstone and heavenly wrath mourning for a passed deity._

_“Don’t worry about it,” says the girl, who Weiss knows is a thing she does not believe in. “Whatever happened to me is done and gone. But you’re still early, and you’re alone. Why have you come?”_

_Weiss speaks, but no sound comes._

_“I see,” says the girl. “Then, maybe it’s because your caretaker did not do his job well. Pity that, but you still have to march along. Go, then, and see the cinders. See where the fire died.”_

_And the girl is gone. And the heiress is nothing again. Then, she is ashes. Then, she is Weiss Schnee once more, a woman whole who stands amid scorched trees and blasted rock. Swords and spears and javelins and axes, and every conceivable weapon of olden war, lay strewn about. Some are poked in the ashen ground. Some are still gripped by the skeletal remains of their owners. But all is ashes, and all is burnt nigh unto ash, and only one thing yet lives._

_It is not Weiss._

_“You trespass,” says a thing, for that is all it really is, and its voice is as sand rattling in hollow steel._

_Charred armor warped to the shape of a starved man. A helmet wrought fully from true by who-knows-what, surely a catastrophe of divine proportions. A sword stuck in the ground, in a pile of burning bones, its blade twisted up like a coil._

_“This place is for those who would inherit fire,” says the charred thing. “You are not an heir of fire. You cannot remain here. Why have you come?”_

_Weiss speaks, but no sound comes._

_“Then you do not seek fire,” says the charred thing. “You must seek light and understanding. You must go where three gods fooled men and mer. You must go where Indoril was betrayed. You must see the lady of Moon and Star.”_

_And the field of ash is gone, and the charred thing is gone, and the twisted sword in its bone-fire is gone, and Weiss is no more._

_Then she breathes, and the air is acrid and smoky. She opens her eyes and sees a storm of blight. Brown dust as thick as harbor fog at midnight billows hard across all and sundry. A grand wall rises up some two-hundred feet heavenward, far off in the distance. Its face is blue light. Its poles are grand sentinels of bonemeal. Three heads are carved atop each: a woman, a man, and one who is both._

_“You are not her,” says a woman from behind Weiss._

_She turns. The woman she beholds stands on air, perhaps three feet above the ground. She is surely ten feet tall if not a bit more. Her skin is the blue-grey of fresh ash; her eyes are the raging ruby-red of living magma. Her hair is writhing flame. In her right hand is a crescent moon; in her left is the First Star. From her mouth spills the very heavens._

_“This land is only a dream any longer,” says the woman. “Three tongues lied and a hero fell. Three tongues conspired and became false, living idols. Three tongues were cut out, three hearts were stopped. But the truth ended and we are only dreams now._

_“But you are no dream, and you are not she. You have come early to a place you do not belong. You have become entwined with her. You should not have. Now you cannot disentangle yourself, and must follow along in the end, to the end, for woe or weal. This is_ your _truth.”_

_Weiss speaks, but no sound comes._

_“I hear your sorrow, my sweet child, and offer you this in turn:_

_“You will visit a land whose history was writ with tears, whose roots were nourished by blood, whose future was bright and strong until the thousand suns of man burned all to sickly dust. You will visit a world whose people were many, whose stories were limitless, and whose_ Maker _was loving beyond reason. You will go, and when you live again, you will remember not. But you will go even still.”_

_The woman holds out the crescent moon to Weiss. She touches it. She is no more._

_Splitting thunder rages. Heat surges. The air tastes of lead and ozone. The ground splits and crumbles and groans. Buildings are falling to pieces all around. The people are already dead but their shadows remain a vigil, burned into every surface yet intact. Not even the dust of their bones remains. Every green leaf has been swallowed by atomic fire. Every drop of water has been lapped up by man-made suns._

_Weiss thinks to herself, “_ The Big Booms _,” and has no idea why._

_She is scared. Her wife and daughter are surely dead. Her world is burning all around her. She hides in a closet, in a basement, ten floors below the streets above. In the Capitol building. Georgia, her home, is being consumed by the Big Booms. Someone pressed the big red button, then everyone else pressed their own big red buttons. All is fire. All is death. All is lost. Hope is a lie._

_Weiss looks at a nearby piece of broken mirror. The face that looks back at her is older, and a man’s, and his eyes are emerald-green, and his skin is olive. Tears streak down his face. Hope has died within him. All has forsaken him._

_All has forsaken her._

_The roof collapses and he is dead. Weiss is dead. The world is burned out and dead and lost._

_“But that is not the end of our tale.”_

_A voice, gentler than anything she can fathom, speaks through the veil of the beyond._

_“I am not Alpha. I am not Omega. I am nothing but the keeper. I am only a battery. Yet, I stave off the end, for this is my task. I fuel the lamp for all. I dream deeply so all may live on.”_

_She is sinking again, fading into the dark. The worlds crumble away. The fires recede. The waters return and swallow all sense. Velvet curtains drape over her, and her flesh melts into them, and her mind resigns itself to blissful ignorance._

_“You chose for yourself. That is good. But now, you must see it through. And so must she. And so must you both come hither. Or I must awake, and the dream will end, and all will be for naught. So come, Last Rose of Summer, and forge yourself through the truth.”_

_“However you find it,” says Weiss, who is nothing any longer._

 

Ͼ

 

Weiss awoke with her mouth tasting of honey. A beautiful morning sun crept coyly through her windows. When she opened her eyes, her first sensation was alarm. She did not know the ceiling above her and wondered why she lay naked under the covers. She sat up quickly, beginning to panic, clutching the thick covers tight to her bosom. As she looked around, memory returned. All of it: the conversation with her father, then with Klein, then the sensation of utter exhaustion that drew her straight to bed.

But she did not recall one bit of her long, strange, deathly dream.

Satisfied to know she was home—as much so as the Schnee Estate had ever _been_ her home—Weiss dropped the cover, stood from her bed, and stretched the long sleep away. Strangely enough, despite the terrible day previous, she felt utterly rested. Like her blood and muscles and bones were completely restored, perhaps even remade.

She recalled her conversation with Klein, yes, and set immediately to thinking on it while retreating to her lavish powder room to dress. Once dressed, she sat herself at her old desk and pulled out a sheaf of paper, took a number of sheets and fished a pen from another drawer. Then, the heiress put herself to the grinding wheel and began to draft her plans.

Her scroll lay beside her all the while, and when the directory and saved messages within it were not enough to continue plotting, Weiss stopped to search her room for the laptop she had left behind. When going off for her first foray into college she had opted to replace the thing rather than carry it along. After ten minutes, maybe fifteen, Weiss found the old thing and booted it up. It was easy enough to access her various emails and marketing sites from there.

Like a woman possessed, she set back to her designs. Mails were sent. Calls were made. Stocks were liquidated and assets moved. Thinking about it, the heiress wondered if she might not attract the attention of some government or another. For, by the time she had been up for but three hours, Weiss had moved a sum of Lien totaling well over one hundred million. Consolidated, so to say, in preparation, and all without so much as looking at her handful of shares in ColdWater.

A knock came from her door. The heiress stopped cold in her tracks, frozen in place with a brief fear. Was it her father? Had he noticed? Had he come to check on her, or to investigate her machinations?

“Miss Schnee?” Klein’s voice, fretful but not timid. “Would you like some breakfast, Ma’am? ‘Tis past ten. Won’t do for you to starve yourself…”

Sighing, smiling faintly, and suppressing a chuckle, Weiss stood. She went to the door and opened it. Klein stood there, hunched miserably, a fine silver tray in his hands. On it lay a small feast of every breakfast food one could imagine offhand.

“Thank you very much,” said Weiss, reaching for the tray.

“You’re quite welcome, Ma’am,” answered the hunched old man.

He handed it off to her and made as if to leave.

“Klein, could I ask you a favor?”

“No need to ask anything,” said he, turning back around to face the heiress. “You say and I shall do.”

Without a word, Weiss went to her grand desk. She set the tray on one side and took up her pen, found a sheet of unused paper, and jotted a short missive. It took her perhaps five minutes, and when she finished she enclosed it in an envelope and handed it to Klein.

“See to it this reaches Axter Levaleis, please,” she said. “And do not let Father see it under any circumstances. Is that too much?”

“I’m afraid I cannot lie to Mister Schnee,” said Klein, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his milky eyes. One Weiss knew quite well. “ _However_ ,” he went on, “my memory has been quite awful of late. I hope I do not forget you gave this to me, only to remember it upon making my daily journey for the paper mail…”

Klein gave the heiress a knowing wink, and she, in turn, gave him a short hug. Then he left, closing the door behind himself, and Weiss returned to her desk. Returned to her machinations. Returned to her calls and mails, her wheeling and dealing.

Every now and again she would wonder on the dubiousness of the measures taken—rash and nigh instinctual—to prepare for the battle she had only just begun. When she thought on that, she would then marvel at herself. At the depth of her feelings for Ruby and how they spurred her along. Connections were drawn, then, in her mind, between Ruby and the goals she had had for her own life. Where they had been. Where they were now. Where they might yet migrate to in the days ahead.

“Marry myself off, huh?” said Weiss to no one at all, her voice little above a whisper. “Be careful what you ask, Father. You never know how it might come to you…”

 

Ͼ

 

Klein proved himself to be just as perceptive as Weiss had once known him to be. After bringing her the enormous breakfast, he had since not so much as whispered to her door. Weiss assumed, and rightly so, that he had picked up on her mood. That he had understood her drive and will coalescing that morning, that she was a woman on the warpath.

Yea, for seven hours she maintained that warpath. For seven hours that passed in the blink of an eye, Weiss Schnee showed herself to be every bit the recipient of her father and grandfather’s blood, the progeny of their mercantilistic wiles. It was six in the evening—for she had taken a few short breaks to breathe and think throughout the day—when she finally let her portfolio rest, signed out of every marketing site she used, and began to take a final stock of her efforts. The results surprised even she.

In raw monetary assets, she now had close to a half-billion Lien ready to go. In liquid assets she retained another hundred million. Lastly, through her shares in ColdWater, she had access to another quarter-billion if she waited for a good sell, or a hundred and fifty million if she would not wait. Yes, the trading had been beyond kind to her (though, her small army of financial advisors might need suicide watch, she imagined) and had exceeded anything she could have imagined.

Yet, where could she go with it? Not quite one billion Lien would be nothing raised against the hundred-or-more ColdWater could surely bring to bear.

“I’ll need an angle of attack,” Weiss said to herself.

But then, she realized another thing she might need. Or if not need, then it would at least greatly benefit her to have. All of it was starting to look like a complete crapshoot to her. The idea of carving out a third path at her fork in the road, as it were, seemed to be little more than wishful thinking. Then again, was it not wishful thinking and a mere hundred Lien that had built the SDC? Granddaddy Schnee had certainly left her quite the shoes to fill, shoes her father had made a mockery of thus far…

And come hell or high water, Weiss Schnee intended to fill out those shoes until they had to be stretched to accommodate.

 

α

 

Ruby awoke to her alarm clock almost as though everything were back to normal. Like things had returned to the lackadaisical days of her start at the MTU. She got up and got ready, made breakfast and ate it in short time. Then she packed what she needed and headed off. The train ride was uneventful; she read from Wizard and Glass the whole way. When she arrived at the MTU cradle, she disembarked and went straight to her muster class. Winter conducted the class as usual, much as before, and made no indication she even noticed her missing sister. Ruby assumed she was informed of whatever was going on and merely did what she had to—listened and learned, noted and jotted, asked questions where and when she needed—for muster and for the classes that followed.

Then, the day ended and she returned to her apartment, ate a small dinner and readied for work. She left for the Siren’s Call and, once more, read from her book on the train ride. She arrived and changed, performed until her shift was done. Made ready to go home. Got there and had another small meal, then made ready for bed. It was only when she crawled into bed that Ruby dropped her guard and thought about that short note she had found in Weiss’s dorm room, after returning from her brief shopping venture…

‘ _I have to go for a while, not sure when I will return. Keep up your studies and take care of yourself. Will call or text if I can. I love you._ ’

Short, succinct, and to the point. Just like Weiss. So very, truly like her.

One single tear slid down Ruby’s cheek as she drifted off to sleep.

 

Ͼ

 

The third day of her return home (or was it really home any longer?) dawned, but Weiss had awoken two entire hours before this and was again busy about her ordeal when the sun finally crested the horizon. Almost the very moment it did, and its first shallow rays washed into her room, an idea struck her. She was hungry. She was exhausted and had not slept well at all. She could sorely use food, coffee, and a bit of a hint, mostly in that order.

The heiress stood from her desk, stretched long and slow, then left her room. She walked the halls of the Schnee Estate for just a short while. Much as she suspected she might, Weiss found Klein beginning his morning rounds of the estate in the foyer. He ceased his speaking to the other household hands upon noticing her.

“Good morning, Miss Schnee,” he said to her, and she did not fault him the honorific being that other maids and butlers were present.

“Good morning to you as well, Klein,” she answered. Then she said, “I need to speak to you when you have some time. Soon, if possible.”

The hunched old man immediately shooed off his subordinates, set them about their duties. He approached Weiss, walked by her, and motioned for her to follow. She did.

“Are you feeling better today?” he asked as they went.

“Much,” said Weiss. “Enough so, in fact, that I would like to have breakfast with Father. Do you think that can be arranged?”

Klein stopped dead in his tracks. Weiss very nearly bumped into him, it was so sudden. He merely stood there for a moment, too, before finally turning to her, a suspicious incline to his brow. The heiress meant nothing beyond what she had said, and her poise expressed exactly as much. Seeing this, Klein only sighed.

“Mister Schnee is like to be attending to business by now,” he said, “but I will do what I can, Ma’am. You have my word on that.”

“Thank you,” said Weiss, and she turned to leave.

“If anything comes of it, you will hear from me within the half-hour!” Klein called after her.

With that, Weiss returned to her room, locked the door, and settled back into her machinations. She had a few decent ideas at this point, but the choosing would come down to whether or not she had breakfast with her father. This she well knew, and so she picked a few ideas from each possible branch and began to build on the foundations of them.

 

Ϯ

 

Klein managed to pull through it seemed, and by eight that morning Weiss sat in the dining hall at a large, beechwood table across from her father. The rim of the table was banded with brass depicting leaf-shaped scrollwork across its golden surface. The wood was stained a brown so deep it was nearly black. Between them—fixed up by Klein himself—was a veritable feast of a breakfast, though in truth, neither Weiss nor Jacques were particularly hungry. Still, she had come, and so had he, and both were determined (for their own reasons) to sit for the meal.

No others were in the room with them. For all Weiss knew, the door leading out from the dining hall was locked. That unnerved her a tad, but she was a woman on the warpath still. She was there to gather intel, one might say, and would go to any lengths to have it…

“Father,” Weiss began, setting down her utensils and looking the man in the eye. “Might I ask you a favor?”

“You may ask,” said Jacques. He seemed entirely nonplussed to her addressing him, as if the shared meal were hardly even a formality. “I highly doubt my answer will be what you want to hear,” he added, and went right back to eating.

The heiress took a deep breath, calmed herself, and said, “I would like to speak with you as proper adults. Considering my age and our current position—this impasse we have come to regarding _my life_ and the direction of the company—I feel it is only appropriate that we speak so. As equals, I suppose.”

Jacques finished his bite of eggs, put down his own utensils, and returned Weiss’s gaze. Eye to eye, the two Schnees began a titanic contest of wills that would last the next few months. As many great events of history, it started innocently and innocuously enough. A shared meal and a conversation, from which would be born an upset the likes of which Remnant had not seen in some decades.

“Alright,” said Jacques, and the die was cast, “I’ll humor you. Let us talk as equals. Now, could I safely assume _you_ would like to spearhead this level conversation?”

“You could,” said Weiss, “and you would not be wrong. In fact, I would like to ask you a question to start.”

She took a sip of water then asked, “What do you want from the Schnee Dust Company? Surely you know it is no secret that you married Mother to get in at the top. Well, you’ve had the reins for a while now. What are you still striving for?”

At first, Jacques seemed to bristle furiously, and Weiss briefly wondered if she had not gone too far. But he quickly softened and said, “I want my mark on the world to persist.”

“Is it truly so simple?” Weiss pressed.

Her father seemed to honestly consider the question. He leaned back, picked up his steamed cup of coffee, and began to think in this reclined manner. For five or so minutes he did this. Every now and again he would sip on his inky coffee—an import from Menagerie, one which Weiss had little taste for, so bitter was it—and furrow his brow, and make an odd twitch of his moustached nose. The look he wore was thoughtful and unrested and surely _anything_ but relaxed.

“You want to hear that I have some grand machination, don’t you?” he said at last. “Yes, I’m sure you’d like me to confirm your belief that I am some scheming villain, looking to take over the world. Is that it, Weiss? Have you brought something to surreptitiously record this conversation, as well? To capture my confession?”

Weiss lost herself there, if only a bit. She slammed the table and all but yelled, “Are you kidding me?! The scar over my eye is not enough to warrant such an opinion of you, then? The bruises I would sleep with through my teens? The tears that would cloud my eyes at night as a child? How you paraded me about like a piece of meat to be sold, no sooner than I turned _sixteen_ …”

“Sold?” Jacques scoffed. “I wished you to have a suitable partner, Weiss. A husband that could meet your value.”

“And one that could take over for you, right? Steer the company as you have, perhaps even giving you a grandson in the process?”

The enormous, empty dining hall echoed with Weiss’s words for much longer than it should have. Like small speakers were repeating them, over and over, quieter each time but not by much. Jacques picked up his coffee and finished it, then resumed his meal. Weiss inwardly chided herself for veering off topic in such a hotheaded manner.

And yet, it was as though she couldn’t help herself…

“Do you _miss_ Whitley?” she asked. “Or do you miss what he meant for your legacy?”

“When I met your mother…” said Jacques. He paused then, set down his utensils and seemed to drift off in thought. Weiss merely watched, breath bated, until he said, “I had to scrimp and scrounge every bit I could to court her. I doubt she would have seen it that way, had she known then. She might even have been angry with me for it—but I _felt_ I had no choice. A woman such as her deserved the finer things in life!

“After we were married, I lost none of that drive. If anything, I only lost my perspective. Maybe _that_ is why I’ve done what I have. Maybe _that_ is why it’s all coming down around me…”

The heiress realized, then, that her father was no longer speaking to her. She only continued to watch him. He went on and on, making less and less sense.

“She hasn’t spoken to me kindly in ten years. I’ve done everything I can—made every dirty deal, broken every rule I could get away with—to keep this company soaring upward. Now ColdWater, and _you_ , and…”

This time, it was Jacques who slammed the table. It surprised Weiss how strong he was. The table was no small thing, but when he brought both fists down on it, the entire bulk of wood and brass tipped toward him. His end hit the ground just before his toes and the other barely missed clipping the heiress’s chin as it sailed upward. Plates and glasses, forks and knives, salt-shakers and pepper mills careened through the air. A loud cacophony of clattering, shattering destruction resounded through the empty dining hall.

Weiss lurched back as soon as the table leapt before her—likely saving herself what would have been a jaw-shattering impact—and fell over when her seat tipped from under her. She scrambled up, quickly, only to see Jacques sitting in his chair still, staring at either his hands or perhaps nothing at all. He visibly shook. Weiss briefly considered fleeing the room. The whole thing was quickly seeming a terrible idea.

Maybe she _would_ leave this madness behind…

“I’m too old for this,” Jacques whispered at last. “I have more money than I could ever spend. I’ve either lost or turned all my family against me. This company is going to sink, sooner or later…”

The heiress made to say something but could get nothing out.

“Weiss,” said Jacques, looking up to meet his daughter’s frightened stare. “I won’t let this company sink. It’s all I have left.” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and said, “You despise me, as I’m sure you should, and that matters not one whit to me now. If I had to sell you today to guarantee the Schnee Dust Company continued on, I would. But I’ll tell you what…

“If you can come up with another way yourself, and if I am satisfied it will work, then I won’t interfere with you any further. You can gallivant all across Remnant with that woman for all I care, so long as this company suffers not one Lien of loss.”

Jacques stood and dusted himself off—smearing the messier bits of breakfast that had been flung on him in the table’s flight—then started for the door. His footsteps carried loud in the empty dining hall. Weiss watched him, heart thumping hard in her chest, wondering vaguely how the man had never gotten himself arrested with such a temper.

But he stopped as soon as he touched the doorknob, turned to her and said, “I do miss Whitley, and your sister, and even you when you are gone—despite how you have always incited my ire. So go ahead and take over, if you can. Show me what for. But remember: If I am not wholly satisfied with whatever you come up with, I will hinder you to the fullest extent of my capabilities. The company is all I have left to mark my life as having happened. Not even _you_ will threaten that, Weiss…”

He slammed the door when he left, and the thunderous crack it made shook Weiss to her core.

 

Ω

 

Levi Ansleif walked swiftly down the halls of the Schnee Estate, from one corridor to another, irritated beyond reason that he had gotten himself so turned around. Could not have been ten minutes since he stepped off the air pad—and let us not start on how it irked him to use proper transportation, but appearances had to be kept—and he had no idea at all where he was. Jacques’s office might be on the other side of the world, for all he knew.

And then, it happened.

Levi watched the ground as he went, fuming. Next thing he knew, something bumped into him and knocked him fully on his ass. He hit the ground, hard, landing right on the tailbone. The cowboy-hatted man yelped for the bloom of pain.

“And just where in the hell have _you_ been?” barked a gruff, perhaps somewhat distraught voice.

Already trying to stand, and rubbing his sore rear, Levi looked up. Jacques Schnee himself loomed over him, eyes all but glowing with fury, his clothes an absolute mess and his mien nothing if not foreboding.

“Lost, I’m sorry to say,” said Levi. “Really could use a map of this place. Why, were your summons that urgent?”

“Moreso than I care to admit,” said Jacques.

Levi stood fully, dusted himself off and stretched out the fall. He then looked Jacques over, took stock of the man. Oh yes, he was surely quite angry. An awful scowl occupied his features. His eyes glowered fiercely at Levi, and even he was taken somewhat aback. But the man also looked… what, frightened perhaps? Like a vicious animal backed into a corner by something larger, meaner, and far more dangerous. Like a creature simply unwilling to roll over and die, but rather quite ready to fight until its last.

“I take it the young Miss Schnee has arrived already?” Levi ventured.

“We will speak in my office,” said Jacques, who then simply resumed walking down the hall.

Not how he had anticipated the summons to go down, but Levi merely sighed and followed. He did his best to memorize the layout of the estate as they went. Yet, with no real baseline to go off of, this proved a wasted effort. They arrived at Jacques’s office in short time and Levi _still_ had no clue where he was or how to get back without utilizing one of his special doors.

Jacques walked in first, held the door open for Levi. When the cowboy-hatted man entered he immediately took a seat across the room, just in front of the single, massive desk within. Jacques shut the door, locked it, and left into another side-room within for a short time. When he returned some ten minutes later, in clean clothes and somewhat more composed, he took his own seat behind the desk. He poured up some brandy for the both of them from his remaining decanter, pushed one glass to Levi and fished out a box of cigars from his desk.

“No, thank you,” said Levi when offered. “Mind if I smoke a cigarette in here, instead?”

“Hand-rolled?” asked Jacques.

“Of course.” Levi pulled out his silver case, proudly showed off his handiwork. “The big-batch shit they sell these days is horrible for you and tastes indicatively as bad.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jacques picked himself out a cigar and returned the box to his desk. He then bit off the back, lit the thing, and offered a flame to Levi. The wannabe cowboy accepted. He managed only one puff before Jacques spoke.

“You have not fulfilled the terms I hired you under,” said he. His voice was accusatory, yes, but also off somehow.

Distracted maybe? Or apprehensive?

“Oh?” Levi pondered aloud. “And how is that?”

Jacques took a long drag, sighed an acrid cloud and said, “My company is falling apart beneath my feet, my family is turning on me one by one, and now the only child of mine I thought had any sense has started seeing some urchin from _Vale_ , of all places. Why did I learn of this from a student of the MTU and not from the sleuth I personally hired to watch over her?”

“Your daughter has started dating a boy?” Levi made his face to seem as surprised as possible. “Why, that’s good, isn’t it? Or is he of lowly birth?”

“You jest, surely,” said Jacques. But he saw a confused look upon Levi’s features. “Weiss has started seeing a _woman_ , you buffoon! You really have no idea how to do your job, do you? Are you even aware of the _definition_ of sleuth?”

“There’s no need to be rude,” Levi said, impetuously, and began to drag on the cigarette.

“Proper courtesy or not aside,” said Jacques, “I would like to believe you weren’t entirely a waste of my money. Now tell me, did you truly know nothing about this?”

“I knew,” was all Levi answered.

“For how long?”

He thought a moment, deciding on how to shape the fib. Then Levi said, “A couple months. Weiss, she’s very careful how she handles herself. Keeping tabs on her is enough of a chore—knowing what she thinks is beyond the best. And, loathe as I am to say, I am far from the best, Mister Schnee.”

“And yet you came so highly recommended…”

“I have… other talents, let’s say.”

The cowboy-hatted man stood, opened up his cloak and produced a beautiful gold wristwatch from an inner pocket. He set it on the desk and took his seat again. For a moment, Jacques only looked at the thing, bewildered. Finally, he slowly lifted up his left arm and pulled back the sleeve. His watch was gone.

“I would ask how you did that,” said Jacques, taking the watch and putting it back in place, “but I have learned it best not to question common crooks. You do realize such a display is not helping your case, don’t you?”

“Hm…” Levi seriously pondered the situation. Then, he produced another item, this time from an outer pocket of his coat. Jacques stared at him, stunned beyond words, and Levi said, “This works a bit better, doesn’t it? Now please, take the thing back. You drool when you smoke, I see, and much more than most…”

Jacques began to bristle with wide-open fury. He quickly reined himself in and calmly reached across the table for the cigar he had, until only a moment ago, been holding between his teeth. He had not seen Levi move one bit besides reaching into his pocket.

“Which school did you train with?” Jacques asked.

“Hunter School?”

“Yes.”

“Why, none at all,” Levi said with a grin.

Jacques sighed, said, “Assuming you know more than those parlor tricks, I am brought back to my earlier question: Why did I learn of Weiss’s dalliance from an MTU student and not from you?”

Levi leaned back in his chair, satisfied he had placated Jacques. He said, “I did not think it bore any significance on what you wished me to look out for. As I recall, and I _quote_ , you wished me to ‘ _ensure Weiss Schnee has not been won over by some other corporation_ ’ during her time attending another university. You worried she would turn on you for another, yes?”

“Do not quote my words to me,” was all Jacques said. With his forefinger and middle extended, he rotated his hand in a motion to say _go on_.

Levi obliged.

“Well, through all of my observations, no such thing has happened. And since I learned of Miss Rose, I have looked into her as well. As, I’m sure, have you. I have seen nothing to be worried about. She’s lowborn, to be sure, and a bit of an imbecile, but if anything at all it seems she has helped your daughter reaffirm herself as a Schnee Dust Company exemplar…”

He dragged away the last of his cigarette, squeezed it out with his left hand and stowed the butt in a pocket.

“No, Mister Schnee, I decided it was nothing to worry you over,” Levi finished.

“Try to bear in mind I did not hire you to decide a single thing _for_ me,” said Jacques, and he stood then, began to pace a small area behind his desk. First to a bookshelf nearby, then to the window, and back and forth again. “On that note,” he went on, pacing slowly all the while, “I believe it is time to make proper use of you. And perhaps some of those odd talents of yours, as well. Tell me, Levi, have you been to the ColdWater Group building in Constance?”

“I have.”

“What did you make of it?”

Levi sat up straight and thought. He did not make attempts to delve into Jacques, mind or soul, but rather thought instead. Tried to recall the layout of the place, the sorts he had seen inside. All he had observed of the building.

“A secure place, to be sure, looking from the outside,” he said at last. “Saw some noteworthy hunters in there. Not many huntresses, though. And not much obvious security on the interior. Too many doors, elevators, stairwells and the like. A couple of guards at lobby level? Then, on the dispatch suite—where I had to meet another client—they had only one guard station, a single camera, and two detectors of some sort to get in or out of that floor.

“Is that enough for you?” Levi finished, reclining once more.

“Oh, yes, fine enough for me,” said Jacques as he at last returned to his seat. “I wonder if it will be enough for you?”

The cowboy-hatted man cocked one eyebrow at the Schnee across from him.

“See, Mister Ansleif,” said Jacques, “I would like you to reconnoiter the place. It was a rather lucrative deal they made with us just five years past, to build one of their dispatch sites in the heart of Mantle. And what’s more, to have it in such a famous city as Constance. That being said, I happen to know they keep some sensitive information onsite regarding contracts…

“You will go in—under the direction of no one, keep in mind—and you will find anything that links them to… _less than legal_ contracts. The severity matters not at all. Get a hold of anything and everything you can, and once you have you will deposit your findings with a contact at Constance Memorial Park.”

“How am I to know this contact?”

“Ask Winter when next you see her,” said Jacques. “She will know all about the _blind date_ I will have, by then, arranged for you. A thank-you for a job thus far well done.”

Cloak and dagger nonsense had not interested Levi since he died in Georgia, who knows how many eons ago by now. He would play the games he had to all the same, of course. And so, he accepted Jacques’s new assignment and left politely enough. It only took him half an hour to find a maid, who then saw him quickly to the air pad.

 

Λ

 

Levi left to fulfill his new obligation to Mister Schnee at two in the afternoon, on the dot. Jacques, in turn, set about his own machinations. The Schnee Estate was alight with scheming the rest of that day and for many days after. Weiss set her own contacts out into the underbelly of Constance, in search of every miniscule bit they could find about ColdWater. Klein at last managed to find some time alone in the mailroom, where he passed off the letter he had been given the previous day—along with a considerable tip—to the Schnee mailman himself.

Off in Constance, Qrow Branwen feared he had nowhere left to turn but to his most recent employers, who he had not taken a contract from in two years, in hopes they might have something for him about the masked man or the other parading around in a black cowboy hat. Discussion of contracts handed out to others, no matter how long ago, was of course frowned upon but he had found nothing for nigh three weeks. He felt himself running out of options.

As for Ruby, she did the best she could to keep herself on track: she attended the MTU during the day, studied when she could, went to work and earned her keep, and all the while she thought about Weiss. Wondered if what they had—dear and special though it be—might be folly after all.

For all actors involved, things went on like this for an entire month.

 

α

 

Ruby kept close count of the days since Weiss had left. Kept a near-constant eye on her scroll, as well, but she had heard not one peep from her beloved Schnee. Thirty-five days that had been by now. Complete and total radio silence. Of course, she had not sent a text or called either. She knew little and less of the Schnee ways but felt she could imagine how ugly it might get. She did not want to stress it any further for Weiss.

A pair of teary silver eyes looked back at her from the well-lit dressing mirror. Ruby wiped the tears away and began to tie up her hair. Once she had it done just right, she affixed her mask and donned her wig. Flaxen locks situated perfectly, she stood and looked herself over. All was right so far as she could tell. Save, that is, for her heart. It felt like a block of lead in her chest, weighing down her feet and all but paralyzing her lungs. Even still she would dance tonight, to the leering, cheering, hollering crowd of onlookers. It had begun to make her sick again, at the bottom-most pit of her stomach, to be so ogled and lusted after.

But still, she would do it.

Ruby turned away from the mirror and started to mentally prep herself, walked up to the door and took hold of the handle. A loud chirp caught her ear and she froze. All was quiet in the dressing room. She strained her ears, heard naught more, and twisted the handle. As the door opened up the raucous roar of the crowd beyond greeted her, yet a shrill chirp did pierce that cacophony.

The silver-eyed, masked vixen spun on the ball of one foot. She stood before her locker in barely the blink of an eye, twenty feet across the dressing room. It seemed the damned lock would never come undone. But at last, Ruby managed it and flung open the locker door.

Her scroll, vibrating wildly, chirped one more time. She snatched it up and answered.


End file.
